


Home

by pixieleigh1234



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidents, Baby Sam, Bathing/Washing, Big Brother Dean, Corporal Punishment, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Cas, Daddy Dean, Diapers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Infantilism, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Little Sam, M/M, Mouth-Soaping (chapter 7), Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Parental Dean, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean, Sammy Needs a Hug, Sippy-cups, Spanking, Thumb-sucking, Wetting, Young Sam, bottles, non-sexual infantilism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:44:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 232,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixieleigh1234/pseuds/pixieleigh1234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester desperately wishes with everything he has to find a cure from the Mark of Cain for his older brother, Dean. And when Sam finds the means of doing just that, Dean refuses his brother’s help, until circumstances leave him unable to refuse any longer. But with the cure, consequences follow. Consequences Sam, Dean and Castiel could never have foreseen. </p><p>But will the knowledge they seek in the aftermath provide answers, or will it leave them once again facing an uncertain future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Dropping the twenty pound sledgehammer head to the floor with the handle standing vertical, Dean swiped an arm across the sweat coating his forehead and blew out a breath. It had been a while since he’d done any challenging physical activity outside of hunting and sex, but as he surveyed the large hole he’d smashed through the wall before him he felt a small surge of pleasure at his handiwork. 

Between hunting and watching out for Sammy, Dean’s life now revolved around finding areas of the bunker he could give a more homelike feel to so that Sam could at least see the place as such and not just their workplace. He _needed_ Sam to be able to see that. Needed it as he needed air. Neither of them could predict the outcome of the Mark of Cain – though Dean had more of an insight thanks to Cain’s last words - but the bunker was the safest place for Sam if things started to go south.

 _Especially_ if they started to go south and something triggered that darkness within Dean again.

He refused to hurt Sam; refused to be the cause of his baby brother’s destruction, because Cain was right. That would be the death that tipped Dean over the edge, and Dean knew he would never come back from it. He could live with the guilt of having killed people; that was nothing new in Dean’s life, but he would never survive wearing his baby brother’s blood on his hands.

So now he was doing what he does best; hunting, watching out for Sammy, and knocking down a couple walls here and there. The kind of destruction that didn’t include killing people.  

Besides, they were Winchesters. They were never going to live in the world of normal, and that included the place they called home. Course, they could probably have made do with the bunker the way it already was, but why should they have to? The bunker offered up all this space to them, it wouldn’t be right if they didn’t utilise it. And the small dorm he was currently standing in wouldn’t have been large enough to shove a couple couches in to make a living room which is why Dean had taken the sledgehammer to the wall connecting to the next room.

Glancing at his watch, Dean sighed. Hefting the sledgehammer, he rested it against the wall beside the door and headed out to the library. He found his brother in practically the same position as he’d been in four hours before, but for once he received an actual response to his entrance.

“Hey, how’s the destruction going?” Sammy asked tiredly, bleary eyes rising from the book he was reading.

“It’s going,” Dean responded, the words ‘how’s the research coming’ right on the tip of his tongue but refrained from voicing. Such a loaded question wouldn’t garner a positive reaction from his baby brother and Dean would undoubtedly be subjected to bitchface’s one through ninety. He wasn’t up to dealing with that right now. Instead he said, “Going for a shower, then I’ll be back to help.”

He sighed again as Sam just went back to his book. _Fuck it all to hell, this has to stop!_ Dean fumed as he marched down the hall to the bathroom. Stripping off his dusty clothing and boots he stepped into the middle shower cubicle, and stood under the spray just letting the hot water wash over him. He had long ago realised how fruitless the search for a cure was, but Sam was adamant the answer had to be there. Dean would love nothing more than to just let the kid get on with it without his help; however if he didn’t help, Sam would only try to go behind his back and Dean would still know what he was up to anyway. It was simpler this way.    

Unfortunately, with every passing day Sammy was devoting to research, pouring over all the books, scrolls and files the bunker housed, and anything he could find on the internet, the probability of a cure jumping out from the dwindling information was looking less and less likely. And as much as it was exhausting Dean, he had an outlet with hunting and wall deconstruction, but Sammy had nothing outside of this research and Dean was having to drag him away just to go on hunts.

Sam was barely eating or sleeping and as much as Dean wanted to shove the kid into a chair and force feed him, or shovel some sleeping pills down his gullet, he more than anyone understood the need the kid had to save him. Dean had felt it himself on too many occasions. Sammy was determined to find a full cure; to remove the Mark from Dean’s arm without having to resort to cutting off any limbs as Dean had caustically suggested as a solution several months back. Hell, if Dean thought that would actually work and the Mark didn’t already have a hold over his soul, he’d have taken a blade to it a long time ago and saved them both this never-ending rollercoaster.  

It was all taking a huge toll on his little brother and Dean was running out of ideas as to properly help without resorting to being a full-on bastard. Because as much as he wanted this over with and the Mark gone, he refused to sit back and watch his baby brother drive himself into the grave.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dressed in clean clothes a half-hour later, Dean re-entered the library with a shake of his head. He crossed to the middle table and slammed a thick book shut with a loud snap, waiting for any kind of reaction from his brother. Sam didn’t even flinch. With another shake of his head and knowing the kid was finished with the discarded book, Dean slid it off the table, and turned around, striding the three steps to the middle round-topped shelf unit and slid the book back into the correct place. If it wasn’t for the fact he’d have to listen to a meticulous little brother complaining about it, Dean really wouldn’t give a shit if he put the books back in the right order or not. Grabbing the next book in line, Dean scrubbed a hand down his face as he crossed back to the middle table. Taking a seat, he surveyed his little brother. The kid had been sat in one place for too damn long; hunched over one useless book after another without barely pausing to raise his head and breathe.  

“Sam, you need to take a break.”

Sam blinked, blood shot eyes rising from the book in his hold. Dean was surprised to see that there was only half of the usual tiredness in the hazel eyes that Dean had come to expect, rather they held a hint of wide-eyed excitement. “Dean!” Sam’s voice reverberated around the library as if the kid thought they were standing at opposite ends of a football pitch and shouting was a requirement of being heard.

“Sammy,” Dean started as if he was talking to a five year old, “I’m sitting right here, there’s no need to shout.”

“Huh? Right, sorry, but… Dean, I think…” Sam’s eyes widened further, “I think I may have found a solution. To the Mark.”

“What?” Dean shot to his feet, crossing around the table to join his brother.

“It’s a spell,” Sam said, the same excitement in his voice as he pointed out the information in the book. “In its simplest form it’s to remove a demonic hold over a mortal’s soul. The Mark is demonic in nature, right?”

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean replied, leaning over his brother’s shoulder to read the spell in the book, sceptical of a simple spell working on something as powerful as the Mark of Cain. “Wasn’t it Lucifer who gave Cain the Mark? Lucifer’s powers originated from grace.”

“Grace that was twisted and deformed to create the origin of demonic powers after Lucifer was cast into Hell, Dean.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t Cain have known about this, though, Sam?” Dean really didn’t want to dampen his brother’s excitement, but he had to be realistic, they both did. “He would’ve searched high and low for a cure back when he’d wanted to be with Collette.” Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat and Dean hated it. “Maybe we can get Cas to have a look at it, yeah?” He suggested to at least take some of the world weariness from Sam’s shoulders. “See if it could be in the slightest way possible.”

Sam blinked up at him, hazel eyes filled with tears of exhaustion. “Can we?” he whispered.

Dean nodded as he pulled out his phone. “Hey, Cas, can you haul ass to the bunker a-sap? Yeah… Sam found a spell for the Mark… Yeah, alright, we’ll see you then.” He pulled his phone from his ear, sliding his thumb across the screen to end the call. “He’ll be here in a little over two hours.” Dean informed his brother. “Sammy, why don’t you try getting some rest while we wait?” Sam predictably shook his head.

“There’s too much work to do, Dean,” Sam told him picking up the book holding the spell and started to read once again.

Sighing, Dean reached over and pried the book from his brother’s hold, crossing back around the table to retake his seat. Sam looked at him in confusion. “I’ll look into the spell a little more whilst you’re snoozing, see if I can find anything else along the same lines okay?” he tried to appease. Sam of course was having none of it and reached across the table to take the book back. Dean smacked his hand away and knew it was time to take the much firmer approach. “Little brother, you either get some sleep now or there’ll be no more researching or hunts for you in the foreseeable future,” he told the kid sternly, cutting off the protest that had been coming. “But there will be a trip over my knee.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “You can’t do that, Dean! I’m thirty-two!”

Dean’s eyebrow rose slowly. When he spoke he made sure to keep his voice level, calm but firm. It was a tone Dean had learnt early on to use with Sammy when he was in trouble rather than yelling. Yelling only provoked defiance, something John Winchester had unfortunately never learnt when it came to dealing with Sam. Of course Dean himself hadn’t always remembered that over the past decade either.

“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Samuel Dean Winchester.” Dean took note of the squirming his brother was trying to hide at hearing his full name spoken in the ‘dreaded’ tone, something else Dean had learnt quickly. Because as much as Sam had protested Dean’s calling him ‘Sammy’ during those first few years back together, he was all too aware Sam would rather be called that than _ever_ hear his full name in accordance with his behaviour. “I _can_ and _will_ tan your hide if it’s necessary. I’ve never given a shit about how old you are in the past when I’ve had to spank you, so I know full well you understand that kind of reasoning isn’t going to cut it here.” Sam shot him a fierce glare, but Dean wasn’t about to relent on his threat. He hated having to do it this way, hated being the bastard, but the kid desperately needed sleep, and if this was the only way of going about it… then so be it. “So what’s it gonna be, Samuel, because I have no qualms about putting you to bed with a sore butt if that’s what’s needed.”   

The library was clouded by silence for a good minute, Dean staring at Sam, Sam glaring at Dean, and neither willing to relent. Dean however was only willing to wait another minute before he hauled Sam off to little brother’s bedroom and did as promised. Twenty seconds away from having to go through with it, the glare slipped from his brother’s face. Sam reached up and scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.

Dean found himself relenting - just a fraction. "Look, Sammy, I don’t want to have to spank you, okay, but it doesn’t mean I won’t. I think you know me better than that, kid.”

"Yeah, I do," Sam finally spoke, voice quiet. He looked across the table at Dean through his eyelashes. “I don’t want a spanking, Dean,” Sam gave in. "I'll sleep."

“Good choice, buddy," Dean said, quietly thankful. He really hadn't wanted to spank the kid.

Sam nodded, gave him a half smile before he finally pushed back his chair with his knees and stood. Watching as he turned away, Dean was expecting him to head off in the direction of their rooms, but instead Sam dropped down heavily on the floor beneath the bookshelf directly opposite Dean. Lying on his stomach and burying his arms beneath his face, Sam was asleep in seconds.

“Really not what I meant, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, but couldn’t stop the half grin that floated across his lips.

 At least the kid was actually sleeping for once.


	2. Chapter Two

Dean leant against the metal circular railing framing the entrance to the bunker, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Cas’ gold heap of junk roll up in front of him. He honestly didn’t know why Cas was even using the shit heap. They had managed to restore the angel’s own grace to him fully over a month ago; he could now easily zap himself all over creation in the blink of an eye whenever the mood took him. However, much to Dean’s loathing, the angel seemed to have become attached to his ‘pimpmobile’.

“Thanks for coming, Cas,” Dean said, pushing away from the railing and taking several steps forwards when Cas climbed out of the car. “Seriously, man, you have _got_ to upgrade the wheels.”

Cas rolled his eyes heavenward as he crossed around the front of the car to join Dean. “As you’ve pointed that out every time you see it, I’m more than familiar with your aversion to my car, Dean. However, it has given me great aid whilst I had limited grace. You should be grateful to it.”

“Grateful?” Dean scoffed. “I’ll be grateful the day I never have to see it again, man.” Shaking his head, Dean decided it was better they get back on topic as he could easily complain about Cas shit heap for hours. “So, this spell. Sammy has all his hopes on it being able to work. I need you to take a look, and maybe break the kid’s heart gently.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m afraid that if there was a spell to remove the Mark, Cain would have long ago found it, Dean.” 

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s basically what I told Sammy. Just… take a look, yeah? For the kid’s sake.”

“Of course. And I will be gentle in breaking the bad news to your brother.”

Dean nodded at the honesty behind that statement as they made their way into the bunker. Despite the tumulus past between Cas and his little brother, Cas did care for the kid in his own way.

“Would Sam not be more comfortable in a bed?” Cas asked as they reached the library and spotted the sprawled figure of Dean’s little brother who was still out for the count on the floor.

Dean looked over at his brother as he grabbed up the book Sam had found the spell in. “You’d think so, wouldn’t ya,” he stated, sarcasm lacing every word as he handed the open book to Cas.

Snatching up a half-full bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a glass and settled back into his seat at the table to wait. He momentarily contemplated waking Sam, but just as quickly thought better of it. He didn’t feel like shattering the kid’s hopes any earlier than necessary. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that Cas would find the spell any more useful than everything else they’d checked out and discarded.

Chugging back a mouthful of whiskey, Dean’s gaze tracked from Cas back to his little brother. It still amazed him sometimes how much younger Sammy always looked when he was sleeping – or at least he did when he was allowed a peaceful sleep without being barraged by nightmares. Stripped back to the innocence he only displayed nowadays in waking when he was using those patented Sammy Winchester super-powered puppy-dog eyes. And it was in those moments that Dean was bombarded by the reminder of just how much younger than him Sammy really was. They were only four years apart in chronological age but sometimes Dean felt there was a much larger gulf in that bracket. He had always figured it came from not just having the responsibilities of a big brother and practically having been a single parent from the age of six, but also because of that innocence Sammy still retained, despite all he’d seen and been through in his life, especially over the last decade. Dean never wanted to see that innocence snuffed out, but he also knew that if they didn’t find a solution to the Mark soon, it was going to break his little brother to the point of no return.  

Dean snapped out of his thoughts as his name was called and he turned his gaze to Cas. The angel’s earlier frown was back, or hadn’t extinguished since entering the bunker. Whatever. Brushing a hand over his hair, he smiled grimly. “So, from a scale of one to ten, one being completely useless and ten just being useless, where do we stand with this spell?” he questioned, sighing wearily as he chugged back a mouthful of whiskey.

“Sam may be on to something.”

Dean spat out his mouthful of whiskey. “Wh-what?” he stammered, scrubbing the back of his hand across his whiskey-coated chin. “What did you say?” Cas opened his mouth but Dean waved him off. “I heard what you said.”

“Then why did you …?”

“I _meant_ ,” Dean stressed, “what are you talking about? You said yourself a spell had to be useless.”

“Dean, this spell… I’m not sure why but the simplistic nature of it may just be what’s needed to counteract the Mark’s continuing effect on your soul, even if the Mark cannot be removed from you in its entirety.”

“So… what are you saying? That the spell could sever the connection between the Mark and my soul?” Dean frowned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Like putting a bind or lock on it?”

“Possibly, but… to be cast, you would have to be at the height of the Mark’s power,” Cas told him and Dean could swear there was an apologetic tone in there.  

“What would I have to do?” Dean queried, something like a dead weight settling in the pit of his stomach.

“You’d have to become a demon again,” Sam’s quiet voice interjected as he pushed himself up from the floor and into a standing position, shoulders hunched and lank hair falling around his face. He had clearly been awake and listening to the last few minutes of conversation between Dean and Cas.  

“No,” Dean stated firmly, looking from his brother to Cas and back. “No way in hell. I’m not putting any of us through that again.”

Sam brushed his hair out of his face, raising himself a little more, though it seemed as if it was too great an effort. He just sighed and slumped back to lean against the book shelf behind him. “None of us want that, Dean,” Sam told him wearily. “I definitely don't want you to become a demon again. But if this worked …”

“And what if it didn’t?” Dean barked at him, chair toppling backwards and loudly thumping against the floor as he shot to his feet. “I’d once again be a demon and I doubt the same tricks would work to get me to sit back for the blood cure to take effect, Sam!”

Sam flinched minutely reminding Dean that the cure hadn’t been as straight forward as he’d just made it sound; he had tried to cave his little brother’s head in with a hammer during the process.

“If we locked you down before …” Sam blanched and Dean knew what he had just finally realised; that if they were to do this, if Dean were to become a demon once again, someone would have to kill him and place the First Blade in his hold for the Mark to take full control of his soul again.  

Sammy wouldn’t be able to do it. And there was no way in hell Dean would let the kid do it in the first place. Dean wasn’t sure even Cas could kill him if it came to it. That was if they were even contemplating this ridiculous idea; which they weren’t!

“Dean, this may be the only way …” Cas started.

“No, Cas,” Dean cut him off, looking back and forth between the two. “Just… no,” he repeated before walking away.

 

**#SPN#**

 

In the shadows of the kitchen hallway, Sam watched his brother through the archway leading into the crow’s nest. Dean was currently using the light table to sand down the thick slab of wood he was intending to use as the top for the kitchen’s new breakfast bar; a matching slab of wood to the new island installed last week after Dean had thrown out that old metal one. And by thrown out Sam actually means it ended up a twisted heap of metal once Dean had finished working out his aggression on the thing. Not that Dean had told Sam that, he didn’t have to. The specks of blood on the twisted metal, and the gashes on Dean’s knuckles were evidence enough. And as much as Sam wanted to know what had caused Dean’s descent into such extreme anger that day, he just as much _didn’t_ want to know.

“You gonna hover over there all evening, Sam?” Dean questioned easily, but Sam could see the tension running across his big brothers shoulders as he continued to work on the sanding.

Sam stepped out from his not-so-hidden hiding place and into the crow’s nest, moving to stand to the left of his brother at the light table. Dean paused in his sanding, shifting the power tool to his right side and glanced over his left shoulder at Sam, giving him a quiet look, but one Sam knew all too well. “Oh c’mon, Dean,” Sam grumbled. “It’s just a sander.” When his brother just continued to stare at him, though adding in the raised eyebrow, Sam rolled his eyes and took three long steps away from the table. “This far enough away for ya?” He questioned lightly as he rested his butt against the side of the old equipment against the wall, amusement coating his tone.

“Yeah,” Dean responded plainly and went back to his sanding.

Sam shook his head; always the overprotective big brother. 

The noise coming from the sander was the only sound in the bunker for the next several minutes, until Sam figured he should spit out the reason he was standing here watching his brother sand a piece of wood rather than furthering his research. He opened his mouth to speak …

“No.”

Sam let out a heavy sigh. It was the same response he’d been receiving for the past three weeks ever since he’d found the spell, even if he'd yet to open his mouth. Just a look in Dean’s direction on several occasions had garnered him a straightforward no. He pushed off from the thing he was leaning against, taking a step closer to his brother. “Dean, I really think this spell could work. If we …”

“Sam, I said no,” Dean responded sharply, slamming the sander down against the piece of wood. The tool made a spluttering noise before it shut off entirely leaving the crow’s nest filled with an unpleasant silence. “Great,” Dean snapped, spinning on his heels to eyeball Sam, who couldn’t stop the cringe from slicing through him at the anger he saw in his big brother’s eyes. “Go do something else, Sam. Now.”

“Dean …”

“NOW, SAM!!” Dean barked, his voice echoing of the tiled walls and making the sound more like a roar.

Sam swallowed, swiftly taking note of the taut shoulders, the hands clenched into fists, the fire in those eyes. The Mark was flaring. Sam now had enough experience with the outbursts of anger tied into the Mark that he knew on what days and in what situations he should stick around and help Dean through it. Or when to get the hell out of his brother’s sight, as Sam seemed to have the unhappy misfortune of triggering most of that explosive anger. And the littlest of things could set Dean off, more so with each passing day.

Swiftly leaving the crow’s nest the way he had come, he made it to his bedroom in record time. Closing his door, he slid the bolt across the top of the door, quickly leaning down to do the same with the one on the bottom, and then turned the key in the deadbolt. It wouldn’t hold if Dean really wanted in, but it would hold just long enough for Sam to get help if he needed to.

Sam stepped back slowly, eyes fixed firmly on the door. He jumped lightly as the backs of his knees came in contact with his bed. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he sank down onto his mattress. He was being an idiot. This was his brother for crying out loud, he shouldn’t have to lock himself away from Dean. But Dean had been the one who installed the locks shortly after his fight with Cain and had ordered Sam to lock himself inside if Dean’s anger ever flared too out of control, like life-threatening out of control, and especially if that anger was centred on Sam.

Sam didn’t need to be a genius to know why.

Looking around his room, he cursed silently. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to be stuck in here for; just long enough for Dean to get his head back on straight and calm the hell down, but Sam wished he’d at least moved some of his more prominent research notes in here as he’d kept meaning to do. At least then he’d be doing something more productive than just sitting on his butt playing the waiting game.

Digging his phone out of his jeans pocket, Sam swiped his thumb across the screen and found the contact he wanted before setting the device to his ear. The call was picked up after a few rings.

"Cas, he's getting worse."

 

**#SPN#**

 

Switching the shower onto a setting that would ensure it was hot enough to sting but not scald, Dean hurriedly stripped his body of its soiled clothing, throwing it into the garbage disposal bag he’d had the forethought to bring with him. He wasn’t getting those stains out of any of it.

Stepping into the shower, he pulled the curtain closed and stepped under the spray, feverishly scrubbing his hands and scratching his short fingernails over his skin, trying to get the majority of the blood off, before he grabbed his soap and started scrubbing his body with it. He wasn’t an idiot no matter how much he’d painted himself as one over the years. He was the one who taught his baby brother to read and write; taught him his maths and geography, especially of the back roads of America. He’d been the one who had done the majority of the research for his dad’s hunts and taught Sammy how to research, to pick up information and follow the clues where they took you, whilst discarding anything that wasn’t needed.

He _wasn’t_ an idiot. Which meant he knew he was getting worse, that much was evidenced alone in the past twenty-four hours. He hadn’t meant to explode at the kid, but the Mark doesn’t really give him much of a say in the matter. The slightest spark of anger inside him and the Mark latches hold of it; like turning the breaking of a sander - a stupid and irrelevant power tool - into something much more sinister and twisted than it actually is.

And scaring the shit outta his baby brother in the process.

“Dean?” 

Dean froze. His brother finding him was the last thing he’d been expecting, but at the same time he should have figured that would be exactly what Sam would do. Sam wasn’t one to wait around; as soon as he’d figured out Dean had left the bunker Sam would have unlocked the bolts from his door and left the safety of his room. The kid had probably been out there trying to find him, or at least been out there trying to find another way to help.

Feeling under control, Dean pulled back the curtain enough to see his baby brother nervously worrying his bottom lip. He offered a half smile. It was about all he could dredge up even when he had a little brother in need of reassurance. “I’m okay, Sammy,” he said, trying for confidence, but failing miserably. “I’m okay,” he repeated, unsure who he was reassuring that time. He watched Sam’s adam’s apple slide up and down as the kid swallowed.

Sam nodded once before he glanced around. “Um… you mind if I …?” the kid trailed off, boot covered foot scuffing the ground.

Dean nodded, understanding his brother's need to be close. “Its fine, Sammy.”

“Okay,” Sam said, looking at him earnestly as he dropped down to sit on one of the two wooden benches situated in the centre of the bunkers large bathroom. “ _We’re_ okay, Dean.” 

Well, fuck. There goes Sammy’s forgiving nature butting its ugly nose in. Dean wasn’t sure he was ready to be forgiven for yelling at the kid just yet. And he definitely wasn’t ready to be forgiven for what he’d done to satiate the Mark the past twenty-four hours, but he would slaughter as many animals and supernatural creatures as necessary if it stopped him from slaughtering his baby brother.

Dean swallowed at the thought, trying to get a hold on the nausea. The last thing he needed was Sam having to worry about him getting sick. Opening his mouth, he leant his hands on the wall in front of him, head bowed and eyes closed as he took several deep breaths. Something nudged his right foot and he snapped his eyes open, watching as a white plastic bowl slid between his feet. Risking moving his head, he managed to shift so he was glancing under his right arm, and watched Sam’s bare lower leg and foot disappear back behind the curtain.

Dean shook his head, wanting to laugh - or maybe cry - at the odd situation, but he instead dropped down into a crouch and threw up the very little he’d eaten in the last twenty four hours. When his body stopped revolting against him, he stood on shaky legs and continued to scrub away the evidence of his earlier anger. A moment later, over the soft noise of the running water, he heard Sammy not quite managing to properly hum AC/DC’s _Back in Black_ , but the kid definitely got points for effort.

This time Dean did smile. Though it was fleeting. Because this situation was growing more fucked up by the day and Dean really didn’t think the answer lay in this spell of Sammy’s.

Spells came with consequences – there was _always_ a price.


	3. Chapter Three

Three months later, Dean figured it should have occurred to him, long before now, that the choice would eventually be taken out of his own hands. And all it had taken was one ghost’s lucky throw; the corner of a marble gravestone taking the sudden and severe impact of his not-so-hard-headed skull. Lights out had swiftly followed.

And then… well, the inevitable.

He opened his eyes, once again staring through a veil of shadow, but seeing more clearly than he ever had as a human. Ropes and chains bound him tightly to the chair in the bunker dungeon with his brother and Cas keeping their distance beyond the iron devils trap on the floor. And the Mark alive and humming on his arm; pushing for him to break free and satiate it with the spilt blood of the only human in the room.

 _Sam-meeeeee_.

Glee pulsed through him at the torturous ideas zapping cheerily through his mind. He licked his lips in anticipation of what he’s going to do to the insignificant little weakling when he breaks free of the chains. Hmmm. _Such fun_. But first… Dean tracked black eyes to the angel… oh, yes, first he’s going to have a little _extra_ fun, and then he’s going to tear that fucking dick into an infinite number of pieces, never to be seen again.

He grinned.

Revelling in his thoughts, and with Sam and Cas too interested in whatever they’re doing to pay him any heed for now, he utilises their inattention for his own benefit. They certainly try their very hardest to ignore him as he takes great pleasure in taunting them both with their failures; his immense enjoyment echoing off the walls as he watches little brother’s shoulders tensing and hunching because of Dean’s words lashing against him.

Little fucker always was a pain in his ass. 

He laughs and taunts his way through the words Sam’s chanting; ignoring the bowl held out in the Moose’s hands. At least until it starts sparking. Because within seconds searing pain ignited in Dean’s veins. He writhed against the chains and ropes binding him in place. Feral screams tore from his throat as the pain lashing at every nerve ending in his body increased beyond tolerable levels.

It fucking HURTS! He’s screaming.

He’s BOILING from the INSIDE!! He’s screaming.

His VEINS are EXPLODING!!! He’s screaming.

His HEAD is IMPLODING!!!! He’s screaming.

 _ITS_. _TOO_. _FUCKING_. _MUCH!_ He’s …

… The lights shut off before the last scream rips from his throat sending the Knight of Hell into thundering darkness.

 

**#SPN#**

 

A groan slipped past his lips as Dean rose to wakefulness. Slowly cracking open his eyes, he swiftly snapped them shut again when pain coursed through every inch of his body. Breathing deeply to try and bring the pain under some semblance of control, he was more than grateful to feel it starting to ease after a short time. The reprieve allowed him to chance opening his eyes once again. The familiar grey concrete of the bunker dungeon and the iron strips of the devils trap drilled into the floor immediately blanketed his vision. Shifting his eyes around as much of the space as he could with very little movement of his head, he caught sight of a hand in his peripheral vision.

Dean slowly raised his head, his eyes snapping closed again, whilst another pain-filled groan released from deep within his chest. _God, should this fucking hurt this much?_ Clenching his hands into fists until he felt his short fingernails digging into his palms, he opened his eyes and took in the hand connected to the familiar tan trench coat. The angel was sprawled on the floor and out cold from what Dean could see.

His heart clenched painfully as the memory of Sam’s presence down here impacted him. He quickly shifted his head, this time able to ignore the pain as he found the spot Sam had been standing in with that bowl. His little brother was face down on the ground, eyes closed and face as white as a sheet. A puddle of blood was pooled beneath his head which Sam had undoubtedly smacked against concrete when his body hit ground. It wasn’t the first time.

“Sam?” his voice is hoarse and his throat feels like it’s been drenched with acid but Dean carried on calling his brother’s name regardless. “Sammy?!” He struggled against the bindings, wanting them off so he could check his baby brother and Cas for injuries, though he couldn’t see any clearly visible injury on Cas. “Cas!” He called hoping to rouse the angel. “CAS!!” he yelled over and over, and just when he thought he was going to lose his voice he was finally rewarded with a soft groan. “Cas?” he called again, quieter.

This time Cas’ groan was louder, the angel shifting where he lay, before slowly raising his head in Dean’s direction. He blinked rapidly, eyebrows scrunched together. “Dean?” Cas’ usual gravelly voice sounded hoarser as he pushed himself up until he was semi-resting on his elbows. “Is that… you?”

“Yeah, Cas, it’s me.” There was a nasty bruise on the angel’s chin where he must have hit it against the ground. Dean rattled the chains holding his arms, or at least as much as they allowed. “Get me outta these things, Cas. Sam’s hurt.”  

“I’ll go to him first, Dean,” Cas said softly, pushing himself up onto hands and knees. Each movement seemed to be painstakingly slow as he shuffled his way across the short distance towards Sam.

Dean watched as Cas reached out, placing two fingers to the side of Sam’s neck. Dean didn’t need the angel to tell him the kid was still alive, because a good deal of his focus was on the slow rise and fall of Sammy’s chest and making sure it continued to do so, but he needed Cas to tell him how bad things looked.

Cas nodded to him a moment later. “His pulse is steady, Dean.”

“Good.” Dean allowed a small sigh of relief, knowing a steady pulse indicated his brother wasn’t as bad off as all that blood made it seem. “That’s good.

Tapping Sam’s cheek, Cas called the kid’s name over, quietly trying to rouse him. Dean joined in and after what had to be a good few minutes, they were both rewarded with a pained groan. Sam’s limbs started shuffling against the floor in slow movements, an all too familiar waking for Dean.

“Sammy, wake up, kiddo!” Dean called out louder, heart leaping as he heard his name whisper through his little brother’s lips. “I’m here, Sammy. It’s me. C’mon now. Time to wake up, little brother!”

Sam groaned loudly, blinking open his eyes as he automatically moved to push himself upwards. Cas grabbed hold of him before he could face-plant back against the floor and helped sit Sam up, leaning him sideways so Sam’s right shoulder rested against the tool cabinet. Sam blinked sluggishly, shifting his wavering gaze to his big brother.

“D’n?” he questioned quietly, hopefully, before hissing as Cas inspected his head wound.

“Yeah, kiddo, it’s me,” Dean repeated his earlier words. He frowned as Cas sank back on his heels, staring at his hands as if they belonged to a stranger. “Cas, what’re you waiting for? Heal him already.”

“I…” Cas blinked, eyebrows ever more prominently creasing together, “… cannot.”

“What d’you mean you can’t?” Dean questioned his tone filled with far more gruffness than necessary due to his concern for his brother.

“I mean that I _cannot_ , Dean,” Cas repeated. “I feel… strange.”

“Strange, how?”

“Strange as in I might accidentally blow your little brother’s head to smithereens if I attempt to heal him right now!” Cas shot back caustically, though Dean detected there was no real venom behind the words, just a whole heap of confusion.

“Ok-ay. Well …” Dean responded slowly, calmly. “… Sam’s all good with his head just as it is anyway. _Right_ , Sammy?”

Sam, too busy staring at Cas’s hands that were a little too close to him for comfort, mumbled a simple, “Uh-huh,” in response to Dean.

“All right, so no healing for now. How’d the wound look, Cas?”

“It looked to be only a superficial wound, Dean,” Cas informed him, before glancing down at the dark red puddle on the floor, “but this is quite a bit of blood.”

“Yeah, head wound’s bleed a lot.” Dean responded knowingly, hoping it was just that. “I’m sure it’s just like you said, superficial. Check his eyes,” he instructed, and though he trusted Cas with most things, he would honestly prefer that it was him over there checking his baby brother rather than being still tied down to this stupid chair. “Make sure they’re not dilated.”

Cas did so, gently grasping Sam’s chin and turning his face to him. “His pupils are the size I would expect them to be, Dean.”

Dean nodded knowing he’d need to flash a light in them once he was outta this chair. It only took the slightest of knocks to the head for Sammy to get a concussion.

“Do’t feel l’ke got ‘cussion, D’n,” Sammy told him quietly. Considering the kids words were a jumble, Dean wasn’t going to leave the credibility of them to chance. Sam’s jaw burst open wide in a large yawn, which he made no move to cover. “Ch’ck on D’n, Cas,” he mumbled.

“Will you be able to keep yourself upright, Sam?” Cas queried concerned, “We don't want you to injure yourself further.”

“’M‘kay, j’st tir’d,” Sammy mumbled again, hand pushing sloppily against Cas’ shoulder.

“Very well.” Cas slowly pushed himself to his feet, one hand bracing against the wall as he stumbled towards it. He shook his head fractionally, blue eyes wider than normal.

“Cas?” Dean called to him concerned. “You dizzy?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Cas responded heavily, eyes blinking rapidly. “I will be fine,” he tried to assure but Dean didn’t buy it.

Dean kept his gaze on Cas as the angel - with help from the wall - slowly made his way towards him; and out of the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam watching Cas’ every move behind half-lidded eyes. Cas blinked again as he stumbled away from the wall and moved closer to Dean and the chair he occupied. Dean could only watch as the angel fell to his knees beside him, breathing heavily as if it had been a great effort just to cross the small distance that had been separating them.

And maybe it had. It was obvious the spell’s casting had come with a huge amount of backlash; it had been cast on Dean and he should have been the only one knocked out, yet Cas and Sam had also been downed. The pain still running through Dean’s body was strong, every movement he made triggering his nerves and muscles into reminding him of that fact; so if Sam and Cas had been affected by any of that, he was surprised Cas was even able to move about as much as he was, let alone Sam being semi-conscious.

Dean withdrew from his thoughts as he felt his chin being grasped by strong fingers. He stared into vibrant blue eyes. Cas stared back, nodding after a moment. “Not a demon?” Dean questioned having been wondering that himself.

He had made the assurance to his brother that it was just him, no demonic taint on his soul, and he honestly didn’t want to be proven a liar. He no longer felt that homicidal rage that had been flowing darkly through his veins, just the guilt of having thrown those vicious barbs and taunts at his baby brother again – the guilt of remembering what his demonic soul had wanted to do to the kid. And to Cas. Dean wrestled back the nausea threatening to overtake him and stared imploringly at Cas.

Dean _needed_ to know.  

“No.” Cas tilted his head to the side, “I can sense… something. But you are no longer a demon.”

“The M’rk?” Sam’s whispered words hit them.

Dean looked over to his brother before his eyes once again met Cas’. Then Cas was shuffling around him - practically leaning on Dean’s knees in support as he went - until he was kneeling to the right of the chair and bracing himself against it. Cas grasped the sleeve of the shirt covering Dean’s right forearm and shoved it none-too-gently up Dean's arm.

Dean stared, not sure if he was seeing what his brain was trying to tell him he was seeing. Weight on his legs drew his attention to his panting little brother as Sammy pulled himself up his legs to lean his arms tiredly on Dean’s knees. There was sweat pouring down Sammy’s forehead, but his face and eyes were open as he stared at the blemish free skin of Dean’s inner right arm.

The Mark of Cain was gone.

_It was fucking gone!_

Sam turned his eyes to him, tears mingling with the sweat on his cheeks. Dean expected him to say something profound, but instead the kid buried his face against Dean’s knees, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Feeling tears welling in his own eyes at the sight of his sobbing baby brother, Dean turned his tear-blurred gaze to Cas as he felt the release of the chains from around his right wrist and arm. The exhaustion written all over Cas’ face didn’t dampen the happiness in his eyes.  

Glancing down briefly at Sammy and seeing him well and truly buried in his knees, Dean grasped the front of Cas’ shirt and yanked him down, bringing the angel in for a quick, hard kiss. Cas’ moist lips curled up into a brief half-smile when Dean released him. Slowly standing back up straight, Cas made his way around the back of the chair to free Dean’s left arm from the chains.

Dean set his hands atop Sam’s head and being mindful of the injury on one side, he called the kid’s name, hoping he could draw the sobbing boy’s attention to him. He failed. So ignoring the pain shooting up his arms, Dean leant down, hitching his hands beneath Sammy’s arms. He was surprised to find it much easier than it should have been to lift Sam’s exhausted sasquatch-sized body up onto his lap, and promised himself to get some food into the kid later. Sam immediately curled into him; and despite the kid’s larger frame Sam still fitted against Dean just as well as he had when Sam really was the _little_ brother. Resting his chin atop Sam’s head, Dean unconsciously started to rock from side to side as Sammy continued to cry out all the emotions he’d been bottling in his normally emotive mind and body during their two year fight against the Mark.

“You did it, Sammy,” he whispered into his baby brother’s dirty and scruffy mop of hair, feeling a tear finally slide down his cheek. “You did it.”

Having released Dean’s legs from the chains, Cas rested a hand atop Sam’s head and the other on Dean’s shoulder. He transported them all out of the dungeon and to Dean’s bedroom.

Recognising where they were immediately, Dean was too tired to even bitch at Cas for zapping them there without any warning. He toppled backwards onto the bed as soon as Cas released his shoulder, Sammy falling on top of him. Raising his gaze to Cas standing beside the bed, he silently asked for assistance in manoeuvering himself and Sam up the bed. Thirty seconds later Dean’s head was resting on his pillow, Sammy still clinging to him like a limpet. Dean knew from experience that his physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted baby brother wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Cas smiled at the scene; one that less than a handful of people in the Winchester’s lives had been privileged enough to witness between the brothers. And as much as he wished to join them, he knew they needed this time together, and he slowly, if sadly, started to make his exit towards Dean’s bedroom door, intending to find a suitable place to rest and recharge. He had only taken one step from the bed when fingers curled around his wrist. He trailed the fingers up to Dean’s exhausted face and stared into familiar green eyes.

“You can stay, Cas.”

Cas nodded slowly at the quiet invitation, shuffling to the edge of the bed. His exhausted legs gave him little choice in the matter when he collapsed forward onto the bed beside both brothers’ as Sam was still mostly curled atop Dean and now sleeping a restful sleep.

It was only minutes later that Dean and Cas followed Sam into slumber.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean awoke to a tingling sensation on his lower right arm. Blinking open groggy eyes, he was presented with his little brother’s face. Sammy’s chin rested on Dean's chest, thumb lodged in his mouth as the fingers of his other hand wondrously traced the bare skin of Dean’s inner right arm, where the Mark previously resided. Dean smiled lightly, wondering if Sam would ever realise just how young he looked like that. The kid did look better, a little more rested, though the dark markings beneath Sam’s eyes were still brutally present. The kid’s hair was a mess, and as he took in the clump of matted hair off to one side, Dean was glaringly reminded that his brother had smacked his head earlier. Guilt washed over him for not having taken care of it before they’d fallen asleep.

Reaching up, his fingers traced the area lightly for the cut amongst the dried flakes of blood in the strands of hair. He felt only a building scab across the scalp, though his probing startled a soft hiss out of Sammy, who quickly shifted to look at Dean fully with wide eyes.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean said softly, offering a tired smile.

Sam gave him a dimpled smile around his thumb before he slipped the digit from his mouth, absently wiping the spittle on Dean’s shirt. Dean smiled inwardly; this was a side of his little brother no one else ever got to see, a side Dean had only seen intermittently in the past fourteen years.

“Hi, De,” Sam finally said, staring at him for a while longer before clumsy fingers started tracing over Dean’s face. It was something Sammy had done since he was around eighteen months old. A silent reassurance of his big brother’s presence. Dean had let Sammy do the same thing each time they’d curled up like this after Dean had returned to the kid these past years; just letting Sam reassure himself that Dean was really there, was actually real. It was the only time Dean _willingly_ allowed his ‘no chic-flick’ rule to be broken.

Sam soon finished with his inspection and fingers returned to brush against the bare skin of Dean’s arm again. “It’s gone,” Sam whispered almost reverently.

“Yeah, kiddo, it’s gone,” Dean whispered in return, giving Sam’s waist a gentle squeeze, his arm wrapped around the kid from behind and ensuring the fidget didn’t fall off the edge of the bed. “You did good.”

Sammy nodded, not awake enough to think any further and Dean watched his eyes track to Cas still lying beside Dean, the angel’s head resting on Dean’s right shoulder. “Why’s Cas sleeping, De?”

“I guess he was just as exhausted as we were from the spell,” Dean responded still at a whisper as not to wake the sleeping angel.

“Oh. But angel’s don’t sleep, De,” Sammy mumbled, laying his head back on Dean’s chest so his ear came to rest over Dean’s heart and slipped his thumb back in his mouth.

Dean could feel the kid’s throat moving against his chest as Sammy suckled on the digit but his gaze was now centred on Cas, knowing his little brother was right. Angel’s _didn’t_ sleep. He had known Cas had spent some time sleeping whilst walking around with stolen grace inside of him, but the angel had his own grace back now. He could count on one hand the times he’d seen Cas actually sleeping but that was because his body had been pushed to the point that he had passed out. Had the spell exhausted Cas to that bad a degree? If it had… Dean moved his gaze back to his brother’s sleeping face, how in the hell had Sammy even been awake before the angel?

It was a question he would have to contemplate later because the allure of sleep was just too strong to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if the part about Sam's possible concussion made no sense. I've never had a concussion myself (as far as I'm aware), and I'm crappy at writing medical stuff. :) Hope it didn't suck too much x


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos, commented and bookmarked this story so far. It means a lot to know people are actually enjoying it xx
> 
> So this chapter is a little longer than the previous three. Hope you like :)

When Dean next woke, he was alone in his bedroom, both his brother and Cas nowhere to be seen. Scrubbing at his eyes, he groaned as he skirted himself to the edge of the bed, dropping his legs over the side to push himself into a seated position. It hadn’t taken as much effort out of him as he’d expected. And as he rose to his feet he quickly realised the stiffness he was feeling was from lying in the same stretched out position for however long he’d been out, and not from the pain that had flooded his body when he had first awoken from the spell.

Crossing to his door, a yawn slipped past his lips as he stepped out into the hall. Rubbing a hand over what was no doubt a bad case of bed hair, Dean headed left, traversing several hallways before reaching Sam’s room. The door stood ajar. Placing a hand against it, he pushed it open and found the room empty. Glancing around, he spotted a pile of discarded clothing on the floor beside the bed. He recognised it as what Sam had been wearing earlier, making him wonder just how long the kid had been up and if Sammy was actually fully awake yet. Sam was usually anal about dumping his clothing in the laundry hamper by the side of the door rather than leaving it on the floor like this.

Shaking his head, Dean let it go and decided to heed the call of his bladder, making his next stop the bathroom to take a leak. With his bodily function appeased, Dean stripped out of his grimy clothing - the same clothing he’d had on for god knows how many days now – and pointedly ignored looking at his inner right arm. Because looking down meant he might find out that everything that had happened in the past however many hours was nothing more than a dream.

So he stepped into the third of the five shower cubicles - the one he’d designated as his own when they’d first moved in – without looking, without touching, and twisted the faucet dial to switch the shower on. Closing his eyes, he raised his face to the water flooding out of the metal showerhead and savoured the feeling of the hot water cascading over his body; relished the feeling of the soapy suds scrubbing away the days of built up grime from his hair and skin. It was a good twenty minutes before he felt any semblance of cleanliness again.

Shutting the shower off, he threw open the curtain and grabbed hold of the towel hanging from the hook on the tiled end of the dividing wall separating his shower from the next. Wrapping the thick dark blue towel around his waist, Dean dropped down to sit on the end of the nearest bench. He had to check; had to see. He couldn’t face his brother and Cas while his mind was buzzing through a maelstrom of disbelief, thinking it could all have been a wishful dream. That would bring on his brother’s dejected face – the one that came with tears – and Cas’ blue eyes full of pity. Right now, Dean just didn’t have the strength to be dealing with either, _especially_ the former; Sammy’s earlier sobs had almost gutted him.

So while Dean fixed his eyes on a dark stain on the cream shower curtain before him, he reached over with his left hand and found that spot on his inner right arm with shaking fingers. A gush of air released from him the moment those fingers came in contact with smooth skin rather than the ridged lines he’d come to expect from the Mark. Drawing in a deep lungful of air, he finally lowered his eyes to the area as he slowly breathed out.

It hadn’t all been a dream. 

This was real. The Mark was really gone.

It was a little odd not to see the reddened brand glaring up at him after all this time. Or to feel that darkness pushing at him to murder; to satiate the Mark’s voracity with blood. He felt free; that murky thunder cloud no longer holding his heart and soul in its vice grip. But he didn’t feel lightened in all entirety. He didn’t believe he ever would. His soul may not be bound any longer, but it would always hold that small residue of the Mark because of what he had done whilst it had been on his arm.

From the minute Sam had found the spell, the kid had continued to grasp onto the belief that it was the answer; that it would work. Dean hadn’t had that belief in the slightest way – in his brother or the spell - and in the past few weeks it had taken all the control he could muster just to fight the increasingly growing influence of the Mark enough to flee the bunker before he got his hands around his baby brother’s throat and… he swallowed against the rising bile, determined to keep himself from throwing up.

It had only fuelled his rage when Sam started cowering behind Cas like a terrified puppy. Except that was what his Mark-coated eyes had seen. Now he could rationalise it without any influence and he understood Cas had deliberately stepped in front of Sam every time, willing to protect the kid and stop Dean from making the fatal mistake that would ruin him. And he could also see the fierce hold Sam had had on Cas’ trench coat was not a cowering move, but actually Dean’s little brother trying to shove Cas out of the way (and failing, because Cas is pretty unmovable when he wants to be). Both hunter and angel realising Dean would’ve been more than willing to go through Cas to get to his little brother, and both trying to protect the other.  

From him.

Dean stood, turned and bolted for the closest toilet cubicle, yanking open the door and leaning over just in time. His empty stomach vomited nothing but water and bile, his abdomen cramping against the force of his retching. Eyes watering, Dean slumped down to the floor a minute later, his back hitting a wall of the small cubicle, just giving himself a moment to breath. When he felt under control, Dean swiped the back of his wrist over his mouth and pushed up from the floor, adjusting the towel around his waist to keep it in place as he flushed the toilet. Stepping out of the cubicle he moved over to the sinks to rinse his mouth and rewash his face. It was time to get dressed in his usual gear so that he could once again feel like himself and be ready to face the world – or at least his brother and Cas. 

And as he reached for the hand-towel to dry off his face his fingers brushed the bare skin of his inner right arm and a smile creased his lips in remembrance of awakening some time earlier to his baby brother doing the exact same thing; a silent promise of forgiveness from the one person Dean couldn’t handle holding all he had done whilst under the Mark’s influence against him.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Realising he was starving but not really in the mood to cook or prepare anything, Dean grabbed a coffee from the kitchen on his way to the library, along with a share-size bag of BBQ potato chips that he was mostly already done with by the time he reached his destination. He found both his brother and Cas seated on opposite sides of the middle table.

Glancing up at the clock fixed on the far wall, he was surprised as he took in the little square holding the date. Seven days had passed since that dumbass ghost had thrown him to his death. He frowned. He was pretty sure he had only woken as a demon for the second time yesterday or maybe the day before; he wasn’t entirely one hundred percent on the timeframe. But either he hadn’t gone black-eyed straight away or Cas had done something to keep him under. Another question to add to his list. However, his most imminent question as to whether Sam had managed to put the ghost down without injury dissolved from his mind the minute he spotted his little brother with his nose buried in another thick book.    

 _Really, kid? C’mon! Fresh air, Sammy! Say it with me._ Fresh _._ Air _. Or even some mindless drivel on the TV would be better than a book. Or pool. Pool at the bar. Where there’s beer._ Alcohol _. And sex. Sex with Cas. No! Uh-uh, no. Brain shut the fuck up. Not Sammy with … urgh, bad, bad, bad mental pictures, Dean! Gross! …_ Dean shot a look at Cas, noticing the angels lips were curled up fractionally in amusement at Dean’s inner dialogue. _Get out of my head, you fucking pervert_ , Dean mentally shot back, hoping he heard it and grinned when Cas’ face disappeared behind the magazine in his hands, though it didn’t hide Cas’ soft snort. _You’re a bad influence on that angel, Dean Winchester,_ Dean thought with a smirk, before turning his concentration back on Sam.

“Sammy,” Dean grumbled, announcing his presence to his brother.

“Dean!” Sam’s head shot up, dimpled smile brightening his face upon seeing Dean. “How’re you feeling?”

“ _I_ feel fine. Do _you_ feel okay?” The middle of Sam’s forehead creased into tight lines of confusion. The kid’s hand raised to hover over the area of his head his most recent wound was situated and a fresh wave of guilt passed through Dean for forgetting about it. Again. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish manner.

Sam smiled, obviously reading Dean's expression. “It’s fine, Dean, it’s only a small cut. And I only remembered because my shampoo got into it.” The kid grimaced lightly. “So if you weren’t referring to my head, what are you talking about?” Dean gestured at the book with a waggle of his fingers and Sam’s face immediately enlightened into sheepish understanding. Sam shrugged lightly, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, unconsciously mirroring Dean's action from only seconds before. “I just thought …”

“Uh-uh. No. No thinking. We are done with research for now, kid, and we’re definitely not finding a hunt for a good week or two. Give me the book,” Dean snapped his fingers in demand for the thick book only to find it smacking him in the chest a second later. No one noticed the moment the book landed on the floor with a loud thud due to the fact Dean had frozen; Sam was staring at Dean wide-eyed; and Cas had lowered his magazine and now sat with a raised eyebrow. “Did you just throw a book at me, Sam?” the accusation came out of Dean’s mouth as a way to hide the uneasiness sweeping over him, because he already knew the answer. He had felt the tiny, familiar surge of power pulse through him as he snapped his fingers.  

Sam shook his head, hair swaying and eyes still wide as he rose to his feet. “Cas… are you sure …?”

“Yes. Dean is no longer a demon.” Cas’ gaze hadn’t moved from Dean as he spoke, though neither had Sammy’s. Cas’ head tilted to the side in that annoyingly endearing way and if anyone heard Dean thinking that – including a certain angel - he’d shoot them. “But I think something was… left behind.”

“Ya think?” Dean retorted sarcastically.

“It isn’t just you, Dean,” Cas replied softly, earning both Dean and Sam’s attention. “I believe there has been a drastic side effect from our casting of the spell. The spell worked accurately in turning you from demon back to human, Dean. But what I sensed in you yesterday, I now understand to be the demonic powers you held, and which are now housed within your human body and apparently accessible to your person.” 

Dean blinked, taking a moment to try and sort through that jumble of words to figure out exactly what Cas had just said.

“Right. Okay,” Sam said faintly as he leant partially against the table, easily nodding his understanding of Cas’ words. “I think I get what you’re saying. But… you said it wasn’t only Dean.”

“No,” Cas shook his head. “It would seem I’ve also been affected. I believe it was having been present in the room at the time of the casting, because I am now once again human …”

“What?!” Sam and Dean chorused incredulously.

“… Though I have retained at least some of the powers I held from my grace,” Cas finished as if the brothers hadn’t interrupted. “It’s why I felt so strange after awakening from the spell.”

“And why you fell asleep with us too,” Sam realised.

“And why Sam was awake before you last night,” Dean stated, now able to tick that question off his list. “Becoming human again, I’m guessing your energy took a huge hit. Shutting you down until you were ready to function again.”  

Cas nodded in agreement with both observations.

“But are you absolutely sure, Cas?” Sam queried. “Maybe it’s just thrown you off whack or …” Sam shrugged in that way he did when he was unsure what to say next.

“Angel’s do not sleep. They do not have a need to dispose of bodily waste. And they cannot enjoy the tastes and aromas of food because it all tastes and smells like molecules,” Cas stated plainly. “I, however, can now enjoy the delicious invention of PB&J.”

“Oh,” Sam nodded, remembering clearly the last time Cas had tried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and was unable to eat it. “Huh. Guess you are human again.” 

Dean stared at them both wondering if they’d lost their sanity during his recent bought with death and demonic takeover. What the hell did PB&J have to do with Cas being human? Shaking his head he decided to ignore it. “Right.” He ran a hand through his hair as he started pacing back and forth. “Sam, you didn’t happen to change the spell in anyway, right? Maybe tweak it a little for maximum results?” He probed, careful to keep his tone from sounding accusatory, because he knew how desperate Sam had been. And desperation led to rash actions. Dean knew that all too well.

“What? No, Dean,” Sam responded with an air of indignation as he crossed his arms over his chest. Dean narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t! Cas was watching me the whole time, Dean. He barely blinked. Don’t you think he would’ve noticed if I added a little extra of any of the spell’s ingredients or tweaked the incantation?” 

Dean turned to Cas for confirmation, even though he knew his brother was telling the truth. Cas nodded in the affirmative. “I can assure you Sam did only as the spell instructed, Dean.”

Dean turned back to Sam, wanting a hunch confirmed. Sammy’s words had been spoken a fraction too quickly, and to the untrained ear it wouldn’t mean jack, but to the big brother who had spent a lifetime watching over this kid - yeah, Sammy was hiding something. And Dean had a good suspicion as to what. “But you thought about it though, didn’t you?”

Sam swallowed, gaze drifting from Dean to Cas and back. “So what if I did?” he finally admitted quietly. “Can you blame me for it, Dean? Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t have thought of doing the exact same thing if the situation was reversed?” Sam raised a knowing eyebrow at Dean. “If you thought adding a little extra would give the spell a greater chance of succeeding?”

Dean wasn’t stupid enough to verbally respond to that. Nor did he need to. All of them knew Sam was right. Dean would have thought about it – and maybe not held the same restraint Sam had shown. Although he had a feeling part of Sammy’s restraint had been the angel watching closely over his shoulder.

“Dean, any deviation to the spell not only could’ve risked your life as the spell’s focus,” Cas started, “but risked the castor’s as well.” Meaning Sammy’s life; his brother had been the only one capable of performing the spell. And the castor had to perform every aspect from collecting and mixing ingredients to the final ritual. If Sam wasn’t standing in front of Dean right now with only a small cut to the head, Dean would be beyond pissed. “Or…” Cas continued, “… it could easily have annihilated the entire bunker and everyone in it, whether cast correctly or not.” Dean and Sam both raised incredulous eyebrows.

“You couldn’t have told me that a little sooner?” Sam accused.

Cas rolled his eyes and released a put-upon sigh. “Informing you wouldn’t have changed your decision, Sam. Nor the outcome. I am telling you now simply because I felt it necessary to point out an accurate fact whilst we we’re being truthful with one another.”

There was a beat of silence. Then ...

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean and Sam chorused with a large amount of sarcasm, glancing at each other briefly.

Dean sighed. Why did they always manage to land themselves in one fucked up situation after another. “So let’s get this straight, okay? We’re saying I’m human again, but I still have demonic powers?” Cas and Sam nodded. “And Cas is now human again too and still has _his_ grace powers.”

“Yes, that is what I just explained.”

“Well isn’t that just fucking …” Dean came to an abrupt stop, the implications whirling through his mind freezing his insides. The spell had affected Cas, what if it had also done something to … “Sammy.”

Sam startled as Dean rushed forward and grabbed his upper arms. “Wha…? Oww, Dean, not so damn tight!” Sam squirmed against his hold.

Dean quickly yanked his hands away as if he’d been burned, staring down at them as if they didn’t belong to him. “Oh god.” He raised his eyes to Sam who was rubbing at his arms. Guilt rushed through him. “Sammy, I didn’t …”

Sam nodded. “I know, Dean. It’s the strength. I imagine Cas retained his as well.” Cas nodded as if he had already tested that theory out whilst Dean was sleeping and Sam had his nose buried in a book. And knowing Cas that’s exactly what he’d done. “Why’d you grab me?” Sam questioned.

“Do you feel any different, Sam? Did that spell do anything to you?” Dean grilled gruffly, worry filling his tone.

Sam frowned in thought for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly looking between Dean and Cas and back. He shrugged lightly, “I feel lighter, I guess, but I don’t see how that could’ve been the spell. It’s just the worry and everything about the Mark having been lifted.”

Dean nodded slowly. That made sense.

Cas, however, wasn’t satisfied. “Lighter how, Sam?” he pushed. Dean frowned, clearly hearing the masked concern underlying Cas’ forceful tone.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but… it’s like…” Sam’s eyes slowly widened further, “I feel pure, like-like-like I don’t have so much heaviness on me anymore.”

“As if you have been purified of the taint to your blood?” Cas trod carefully, knowing how Dean could take that as a slight toward Sam.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Could it be possible? Could the spell have purified Sam of something the demon trials had started, but hadn’t finished because Dean had interrupted and stopped Sam from killing himself on the third trial? Could his little brother’s blood be fully free of demon blood?

“Could it be possible?” Sam asked Cas, unintentionally voicing Dean’s thoughts. “If the spell could turn an angel and a demon human, could it have purified my blood? My soul?” the kid questioned, tears building in his eyes.

“Oh, Sam,” Cas shook his head sadly, “your soul was never something that needed purifying. Your soul is one of the brightest I have ever had the pleasure of seeing, if not the brightest.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t understand,” he said looking from Dean to Cas, “how could it be? What with the demon blood, and everything I did back then. The Cage.”

“The Cage damaged your very essence, Sam,” Cas supplied, “but it never _truly_ damaged your soul. Only the purest of soul’s could have withstood the things you were put through in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael and come away as moderately whole as yours did. I know and have felt the torture you were subjected to; you shouldn’t have been able to function even with Death’s wall in place. But you did. And you continued to do so after what I did to you,” Cas told him softly, apologetically, “at least until your body could no longer take that severe a pressure placed upon it. Your soul is strong, Sam. Young, but strong.”

Dean shot a sharp warning look at Cas. He hoped Sam didn’t pick up on the latter part of the former angel’s words. Now wasn’t the time for that piece of information to be revealed to the kid. But Sam was too busy shaking his head in denial to have noticed. Sighing, Dean walked over to Sam. He grabbed the kids chin and forced Sam to look at him. Disbelieving hazel eyes met his own. He was more than happy to draw the topic away from the breaking of that wall, but first he had a no chic-flick rule to break so he could say what was needed to one doubting little brother.

“Cas is right,” Dean started strongly, “I’ve seen your soul, Sammy. Both as a demon and when Death shoved it back inside you. Your soul, aura, whatever you want to call it, it’s pretty awesome, kid.” Dean used his thumb to brush a stray tear away from his brother’s cheek. “Stop doubting yourself, Sammy, and you’re ginormous pure soul,” Dean added a little eye roll for affect, and smiled a half-smile when his baby brother let out a soft laugh. “Because if you don’t… well then I’ll have to kick your ass.”   

Sam offered a small smile, cheeks tinged a light pink with embarrassment at hearing what Cas and Dean had had to say. He cleared his throat. “What do we do now?”

“We start by figuring out if this is reversible,” Dean stated, hurriedly adding, “On Cas’ end,” upon receiving a glare from little brother, and the expectant raised eyebrow from the ex-angel. “Not me. We do need to find out about the powers, but if ditching ‘em means reversing the Mark’s removal… then we leave things well enough alone.” _As long as they don’t start turning me back into a demon_ , he added silently. “For now we concentrate on reversing what it’s done to Cas.”

“And what if I’d rather it wasn’t reversed, Dean?” Cas asked calmly, softly, surprising both brothers.

“Seriously? You _want_ to _stay_ human?” Dean said disbelievingly.

Cas shrugged. “I still retain my powers. I would still be useful in hunting if you were to allow me to join you.” He shrugged again. “And as exhausting as my body’s need to urinate every few hours is, it is an acceptable part of being human that I can accommodate.

“Yeah, you don’t really get a choice in accommodating that now, Cas,” Sam said, amused.

“Cas, are you sure?” Dean questioned, wanting to know honestly if this was what Cas really wanted. “We can research …”

“I am tired, Dean,” Cas cut in softly, wearily, as he turned to look fully into Dean’s eyes. “Tired of having to fight my instincts towards helping Heaven, and being with the two of you. You and Sam are my family, more so than my brothers and sisters have ever been to me. Heaven is under control and in good hands with Hannah. I wish to remain as I am now.”

Dean could read the sincerity in Cas’ eyes as clear as day. This _was_ what Cas wanted and some part of Dean’s heart brightened. He ignored it. “Well okay then.” Grabbing up his coffee, he took a sip, grimacing as the cold liquid passed his lips. Setting the mug back down on the table, he placed a hand on the book he’d earlier zapped away from Sam and pushed it back towards his brother. He had no idea if it was the right book Sam would need to research the spell’s effects further but the kid would get the hint. Glancing up at the clock before he looked back to Sam, he said, “I’m giving you two hours, Sammy, then you’re going back to bed to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean …” Sam started to protest but Dean cut him off. “No, Sam. We’ve got time to deal with this without you trying to collapse in exhaustion again.” Dean stared at the kid pointedly.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest with a loud huff. “Fine. I’ll research for two hours but I’m not going to bed at eight o’clock in the frigging evening, Dean. I’m not twelve anymore,” Sam shifted his gaze away from Dean as he said the latter portion. Dean’s lips twitched; Sammy had been put to bed at eight in the evening a lot longer than the age of twelve. More often than not, Sam had crashed easily as a kid and teen, and it had been the simplest option for Dean when he had to head out to town dives to hustle some cash.

“Half seven it is then,” Dean assigned. Grabbing up his coffee mug and ignoring Sam’s spluttered squawk of “Dean!” Dean turned to Cas. “We should find someplace I can safely test out these powers. See exactly what I’ve retained, and now that I’m human again if they have any adverse effects on me after being used.”

Cas nodded as he rose to his feet. “It would be wise to do as I did and use the shooting range as it’s reinforced.”

“That’s what we’ll do then,” Dean responded, moving towards the main library archway leading into the crow’s nest, Cas joining him.

“Hey, Dean!” Sam called after them, “you were joking, right? **Right**?! **_Dean_** _?!!_ ”

Dean waved over his shoulder without turning around and smiled, hearing his little brother continue to call out his complaints as Dean and Cas passed into the hall that would take them down to the shooting range.

“You really should tell him you’re just teasing, Dean,” Cas admonished lightly.

“Where’s the fun in that, Cas?” Dean smirked. “Besides, who says I’m just teasing? Not sure if you’ve noticed but those purple bruises under Sam’s eyes mean that he needs a hell of a lot more sleep than he’s managed to get so far. And he’s going to get it. Plus, if he’s in bed and asleep …” Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the former angel, “Or we don’t have to wait,” he smirked, tongue darting out to brush over his upper lip. “We have an empty shooting range all to ourselves …” Dean trailed off with a laugh as he was shoved through the door hiding the staircase down to the shooting range. His back hit the banister, Cas’ breath blowing against his face, the other man’s pupils blown with desire.

 _Yep_ , Dean thought as he crushed his lips to Cas’, _definitely a bad influence, Dean Winchester._

 

**#SPN#**

 

It had been just over an hour since Dean and Cas had left Sam to his own devices in the library, and he was currently glaring down at the research material sitting innocently before him and almost taunting him with the futility of nothingness it offered. The same nothingness the rest of the stupid books in the library offered. And he should know; he’d been through this entire library at least three times over in the past year. With a groan of frustration he slammed the thick book shut as if it had personally offended him.

Which it had. Did he mention it was _useless_?

Raising his hand to his face, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a tension headache coming on. What had he done wrong? He’d meticulously researched every aspect of the spell; checking and rechecking of the ingredients, from smallest grain to largest quantity; to making sure his enunciation of the Latin incantation was accurate and walking through the actual performance of the ritual beforehand. He had made sure everything was perfect before even thinking of performing the spell on Dean. It was why it had taken seven days; why Cas had been forced to use his mojo to keep Dean from waking for the same stretch of time.

Sam had been pushing for Dean to accept the spells credibility for months and yet when it came time for Sam to actually bring the spell into play he had procrastinated. The fear of messing up had overruled his confidence in himself to do what was necessary to save his brother. Only with Cas stepping up and calming him down did confidence once again swell through him to override everything else.

Except for his heart. He had had to temporarily place a steel cage around his heart to prevent him from stumbling through the incantation or stopping it entirely at the barbs the demon was throwing around, and then against the screams emitting from his brother. Because demon or not, that had been _Dean’s_ voice producing such a horrific sound that Sam had never before heard coming from his strong-willed big brother – not even when Hellhounds were tearing him apart - and never, _ever_ , did he want to hear it again.

Sam shuddered, blinking back the growing moisture from his eyes at the memory. _Never again_ , he promised silently, _I can’t go through that again_.

Sighing softly, he ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated motion. Aside from the fact he and Cas had been rendered unconscious alongside Dean, yesterday Sam would have said they’d managed to pull the spell off without a hitch. It had done exactly what it was meant to do; return Dean’s humanity and remove the Mark of Cain.

Today – the spell had potentially eradicated every trace of demon blood from Sam's veins; turned an angel into a human with angelic powers; and left demonic powers inside Sam’s now human brother.

What the _hell_ had gone wrong?

 

**#SPN#**

 

As promised, two hours after entering the shooting range, a fully-clothed Dean left with a pleasant grin on his lips. He was leaving Cas to continue to figure out his own powers whilst Dean made his way towards the library, fully prepared to ensure Sam got to bed. And if necessary he’d throw his little brother over his shoulder and carry Sam, kicking and screaming, all the way to his room. And he could now do that without breaking a sweat thanks to his new (though demonic) strength. Crossing the floor of the crow’s nest, Dean paused on the first step leading up into the library and silently observed his brother.

Sam had moved from his usual spot of occupying one of the wooden chairs at the middle table. Instead, he was seated in one of the two tall-backed leather armchairs situated at the furthest end near the opening through to the telescope. Sam’s legs were drawn up, sock-clad feet resting on the seat-cushion with his toes hanging over the edge. His upper-body was hunched over, the right side of his head resting atop one knee and faced toward Dean. The kid’s eyes were closed. The pinched expression making it clear he wasn’t sleeping but fighting what was no doubt a pretty nasty headache. And he was suckling on the thumb lodged between his lips for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

Wondering how many germs the kid had stuck in his mouth, Dean quietly stepped back down onto the crow’s nest floor. Turning around, the thought of how much more sanitary a sterilized pacifier would be momentarily brought him to a halt, before he shook it away with a snort and continued on. Sammy hadn’t had a pacifier in years. He could just imagine the horrified expression he’d get if Sam ever found out that the thought had even crossed Dean’s mind. Reaching the kitchen, he rummaged through the cupboards for the jar of PB&J he knew was around somewhere and growled in frustration when he couldn’t find it. He even opened the stupid drawers where they didn’t even store fucking jars.

_So where the hell is it?_

Rolling his eyes a second later when he spotted the half-full jar sitting on the island, along with a sealed loaf of pre-cut bread, he grabbed a clean knife and plate and got to work making the only thing Sam was able to stomach when suffering this bad a headache. Setting the sandwich on the awaiting plate a minute later, he used the knife to cut off the crusts and then sliced the sandwich. Grabbing a large glass he filled it with mango juice and set it by the plate on the island, leaving both there whilst he ran down the hall to their med kit stored in the bathroom. Finding the bottle of painkillers, he flipped the cap open and tipped it up, one pill tumbling out onto his hand. Blinking, he stared into the bottle and saw only empty space. He could have sworn he refilled it only a couple weeks back and he knew he hadn’t taken any. Which meant Sam _had._ Dean was gonna kick that kid’s ass the minute he looked capable of taking an ass kicking again. The bottle had held a hundred fucking tablets!   

They weren’t the really strong ones that would knock Sam on his ass for a good nine to twelve hours – they weren’t stocked on those which reminded Dean it needed doing - but these ones were strong enough, and filled with caffeine. It explained how Sam had managed to keep going all this time, and Dean needed to know just how _long_ that had been.

Oh yeah, he and little brother definitely needed to have a serious talk about this.

Sighing, Dean tipped the pill back into the bottle and snapped the cap back on. The last thing Sam needed right now was more caffeine. Returning the bottle back to the kit, he rummaged around for some other form of painkiller. Sometimes they just couldn’t be picky, and anything that stated ‘painkiller’ ended up in the kit. Like the bottle of children’s liquid Tylenol he found buried at the bottom. Grabbing it up, he turned it around to check it was still in-date. Seeing it was – just about – Dean headed out of the bathroom; he’d return later to put the kit away.  

Re-entering the kitchen, Dean found a teaspoon that would have to do for the medicine – they didn’t exactly store proper measuring cups or spoons. Picking up the plate and glass, he figured they should probably invest in at least one some time soon. Sam wasn’t going to be having any painkillers stronger than what Dean held in his hand for a good while to come and nothing more than the required dosage. Kid had forgone the privilege of adult painkillers the second he’d started chugging them back like they were candy.

Reaching the library from the crow’s nest, Dean set the plate, glass, spoon and bottle of painkiller on the table closest to Sam before crossing to switch off the majority of the lights, save for one wall light behind Sam. Grabbing the Tylenol and spoon, he moved over to Sam and squatted down in front of the chair in a position Sam could still see him without having to move too much just yet.

Reaching out, he patted the side of his little brother’s lower left leg to gain his attention and spoke quietly. “Lights are off, Sammy, bar the one behind you.” Sam slowly opened his eyes at the sound of Dean’s voice, squinting against the obvious pain. His eyes met Dean’s. “Sit up as much as you can for me, kiddo. I’ve got some painkiller here. Then you need to eat something.”

Sam groaned lightly behind his thumb as he raised his head, shifting his right arm up to rest the elbow against his knee so he could use his hand to prop up his head enough to take the medicine.  

Dean smiled a half-smile as he pressed down on the bottle cap and twisted it off. “You’re gonna have to take the thumb out your mouth, Sammy.”

Sam blinked at him before slowly sliding the thumb out, light pink spots appearing across his cheeks. “Sorry,” he whispered, wiping the wet thumb against his jeans. Dean gave the kid’s leg a gentle squeeze; he didn’t need to be embarrassed. Dean had seen the kid sucking his thumb or a pacifier more times than he could count. Sam spied the bottle of Tylenol. “That’s kids’ stuff,” he grumbled out in a murmur.

“Yep, and it’s all you’re getting,” Dean responded plainly without explaining himself. He poured the purple liquid onto the spoon, being careful not to let it overflow. He wanted it in the kid’s mouth not down his shirt. Reaching forward he held the spoon to Sam’s lips and Sam willingly opened his mouth to accept it, swallowing the grape-flavoured liquid down. Dean repeated the process once more.

With that done, Dean stood straight again whilst Sam sat up a little more, resting his head against the side of the chair. He accepted the plate Dean held out to him, looking down at his PB&J sandwich and quirking a smile.

“No crusts,” Sam observed, “thanks, Dean. But you realise you’ve cut this into quarters, right?” he remarked softly, picking up one of the small quarters and nibbling on one end.

Dean didn’t actually; he'd just sliced and run. Setting the chair in his hand back down on the floor so it was closer to Sam, Dean glanced at the plate; three square crust-less quarters lay on the plate. “Huh.” He shrugged as he sat down. “It’s just the way you like it then, with no crusts and itty-bitty pieces,” he deflected with a smirk.  

“Maybe when I was twelve,” Sam chuckled softly, putting the rest of the first quarter in his mouth.

Dean snorted, “Try fourteen.”

Sam shot him a soft glare. “I’d roll my eyes at you’re idiocy, Dean, but it’d hurt.” Dean chuckled, both of them knowing the age Dean had stated to be truth. “Is that juice for me?” Sam pointed to the glass in Dean’s hand, one cheek poking out where the kid was storing the sandwich. Dean handed over the glass, only now realizing he’d at some point stuck a straw in it. Sam didn’t seem to care though, simply attached his lips to the straw and greedily sucked up some juice.

Dean shook his head. “When’d you last drink something?”

Sam shrugged lightly, pulling enough away from the straw to say, “I guess I had some water a few hours ago when I woke up,” before he went back to drinking.

Dean frowned unhappily, displeased at hearing that piece of information. The kid was clearly unaware of how much time had actually passed since then and Dean was thankful Cas had informed him just what time Sam had finally awoken from the effects of the spell. “Sam, that was over ten hours ago,” he scolded.

“Oh.” Sam blinked. “Must be why I’m so thirsty.”

If that had come out of Sam’s mouth in any other variation than a straightforward observation Dean would’ve been pissed. As it was, Sam was just too mixed up from months of built up exhaustion for a scolding to be truly effective right now. Dean shifted forward in his seat, dropping his right leg down so he could dig out his phone from his jeans front pocket and brought up the lock screen to see the time; 8:37 PM.

“Finish up, Sam,” Dean pointed to the last square of sandwich as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Then its bedtime.”

This time Sam nodded without putting up a fuss about the early hour and stuck the last square of sandwich in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Dean took the plate held out to him whilst Sam finished up his juice. “The medicines starting to kick in,” Sam told him, holding out his now empty glass. Dean took that too, standing to set them back on the table with the bottle and spoon.

He wasn't surprised the Tylenol was actually working so quickly; anything would probably work that was outside of the kid's recent painkiller intake. The effectiveness of those pills would have long since worn off as a painkiller, instead they would have become a strong caffeine hit. “That's good.” Dean held out a hand to his brother. Sam grasped it as he dropped his feet to the floor, and Dean hauled him up to standing. “Go on, get to bed.” Sam nodded, starting to move off. “And, Sam …” Sam turned to look at Dean sideways, “… when you wake up we’re gonna have a little discussion about the painkiller consumption you’ve had going on these past few weeks, or months.” 

He watched his brother gulp; watched as the kid’s eyes widened with the realisation that his big brother knew about his little secret and that it was the reason he’d been given children’s Tylenol instead of the one pill left in the pot. Obviously the boy had hoped this would’ve remained a secret for good. And admittedly, Dean hadn’t been paying attention. His most recent stocking of the painkillers a few weeks back was the first time in ages that he had done so; Sam had always been more than happy to perform that task for the past – Dean tried to think just how long it had actually been, and came to realise it had been at least six months.

“M’sorry, Dean,” Sam mumbled.

“I’m not angry, bud." And he wasn't. He was definitely disappointed Sam had resorted to drugs, but he really had no place being angry with the kid, not when he had similar vices of his own. "But we are gonna talk. Tomorrow."

Sam nodded and moved to turn away again, before stopping and apprehensively inquiring, “Will this talk involve something other than talking, Dean?"

"If you mean am I gonna spank you… that’ll depend on the truth you have to tell me, won’t it?” Dean responded, staring calmly at his baby brother. Sam nodded jerkily. “Go on. Brush your teeth. And don’t forget to wash your face cos you’ve got jelly round your mouth, baby brother,” Dean offered a grin as he said it, hoping to calm Sam’s worry about what might occur the next morning

“Dean,” Sam whined embarrassedly at the teasing, swiping his tongue over his lips before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth

Dean chuckled. “Well now you just wiped it all over your hands."

Sam shot him a sulky glare before heading off in the direction of his bedroom. Dean smiled as he grabbed up the glass, plate, spoon and Tylenol from the table and headed in the opposite direction towards the kitchen. _Cas, where you at?_   He called with his mind, utilising that convenient power. Strangely he’d only ever been able to connect with Cas; though perhaps it had something to do with Cas having powers as well, where Sammy didn’t.   

 _I am currently sitting on the roof of the power plant, Dean_ , Cas responded.

Dean snorted as he set the dirty dishes in the sink and started the water running. Why the hell was he on the roof? Sammy had eventually figured out that the power plant sitting over them made the bunker fully self-sufficient; feeding them their power and water, the latter of which was filtered from the river sitting nearby and some machine up in the plant cleans it of impurities before reaching the bunker, and vice versa, before its filtered back cleanly into the river. It wasn’t surprising that it took the original Men of Letters three years to build the place, but it was fucking brilliant. He and Sam had explored the place once, his geeky little brother bouncing excitedly at his side as he took in all the self-sufficient machines (they were pretty sure those things had ‘never break down’ spells or some shit cast on them). Dean had been more concerned by the holes he’d seen in the roof. It made him laugh to think that the Men of Letters had taken such meticulous planning with everything and forgotten to ensure the roof wouldn’t cave in after sixty years. Then again he doubted they ever figured the bunker would stand abandoned for fifty-five years either.

_Do you require me?_

_Nah, you’re good._ Dean replied _._ _Just be careful up there, Cas. I don’t know how stable that roof is, there’s holes all over it._

 _It’s more than sturdy now, Dean._ Cas fixed it? _I found it quite easily fixable actually._ Of course he did, Dean shook his head with a snort. _Does Sam require healing?_

Now that he knew it was safe and Cas wouldn’t be blowing his baby brother’s head off Dean contemplated the idea. It was a specific power of Cas’ Dean had wanted tested when they were down in the shooting range; it was after all one of the most valuable Cas had. So Dean had taken his knife and sliced open different areas of his body; and despite Cas’ anxiety, the former angel had been able to fully heal each of Dean’s self-inflicted wounds without any difficulty, or blowing away any of Dean’s greatly loved body parts (though it probably would have been a better idea to have tested that power out after he’d put his clothes back on). He’d then turned the knife around on Cas, who’d only looked at him in confusion, before stating he wasn’t going to stab Dean. Dean had laughed, and told Cas to cut himself; they needed to know if Cas could still heal his own body. Thankfully, Cas had then understood, made a cut on his own arm and promptly healed himself.

So Cas could definitely help Sam right now, but Dean didn’t want it being a go to for every little twinge they had just because Cas was now with them permanently. Dean suspected their pain receptors would start screwing with them and they _all_ definitely needed those actively working and functioning normally.

 _We’ll wait for about three hours_ , he responded to Cas as he shut off the water filling the sink. _Sam will sleep pretty easily until the medicine I gave him starts wearing off, but it’ll help him get a proper night’s sleep if he’s not waking up in pain_. Dean could feel Cas’ agreement through the open connection. _Plus it’d be a good idea in case this headache's somehow connected to his head wound_ , _even if it was superficial and Sammy’s says its fine._

_Very well. Will you join me?_

Dean smiled as he stored away the jar of PB&J back in its cupboard and stashed the bread away in the breadbox within their old fashioned icebox pantry/refrigerator. One thing he’d yet to update. _Let me finish up here, then I’ll be there. You want a beer?_ Again, Dean felt Cas’ appreciation of the idea whilst he swiped a damp cloth over the island, cleaning away the mess.

“Dean.”

Dean stopped wiping down the island top and raised his eyes to Sam stood on the lower step of the archway and now in the usual sweatpants and t-shirt he wore to bed. His face was clean of red grape jelly as were his hands, one of which was twisting the hem of his t-shirt in familiar movements and which Dean knew to be a clear indication that something was playing on Sam’s mind. And he didn’t think it was due to the thought of a possible impending punishment.

“Sam, everything okay?” Sam shifted where he stood, fingers curling and uncurling against his t-shirt. Dean dropped the cloth on the island top and moved around so his butt rested back against the side of the island, leaving enough space between them so Sam didn’t feel crowded. “Sammy, spit it out, bud,” he requested patiently. “What’s wrong?”

“Um …” finally the kid started to talk. “Human bodies can’t withstand the powers of a demon or an angel inside them without the actual demonic or angelic body,” Sam pointed out worriedly, his words fired rapidly as he voiced his fear. “The bodies will burn out.”

“That’s not happening to me and Cas, Sammy.”

“You don’t know that, Dean!” Sam burst out angrily, nostrils flaring and eyes wide. “We could’ve just saved you only to lose you anyway to the side effects of that goddamn spell. That can’t happen, Dean! I can’t… I just… I can’t …” The kid shook his head desperately, eyes filling with moisture.

Dean crossed the distance separating them, roughly pulling his little brother into his arms. Winding one arm around Sam’s back and resting the other at the base of the kid’s neck, he held on tight; Sam’s own arms curling around his back, fingers gripping tightly to Dean’s shirt. Dean didn’t offer any more platitudes because he honestly didn’t know if his body could sustain demon powers without a demonic hold inside of him. Nor if Cas could sustain his grace. But they’d weather this storm as they always did.

If the storm let them.


	5. Chapter Five

Pushing open the main entrance of the bunker, Sam raised his face to the sky the minute he stepped out into the fresh air, savouring the taste of freedom from windowless walls for the first time in fourteen days. Two whole weeks of not being allowed out of the bunker after Dean laid down the law during their morning discussion about Sam’s recent painkiller intake. His big brother hadn’t spanked him as he’d dreaded, but by the time Dean had finished yelling at him he’d wished the man had; it would have at least alleviated some of the guilt and shame Sam had been feeling.

He hated being grounded. And he wanted to hate Dean for grounding him, but unfortunately he didn’t; he was still too busy quietly revelling in the fact his brother was alive and free from the Mark of Cain. He may have gone a little stir-crazy by the end of his confinement, but at least he’d been able to venture around the bunker and wasn’t trapped in his bedroom twenty-four seven. Though he had spent the first two days in self-inflicted confinement after Dean had laid out the new rules just for little brother; lest said little brother turn around and slug big brother in the face. That would’ve definitely seen Sam staring far too closely at tiled flooring with his butt in the air.

Plus he wanted to sulk about the unfairness of it all.  

For the foreseeable future, Sam was no longer allowed anywhere near a med kit and in Dean-speak that actually meant Sam would never be touching the kit again – unless there was an emergency. Nor was he allowed any caffeine; coffee and soda having been permanently wiped from his diet. Along with any and all alcohol. Tea, milk, juice, hot chocolate (though limited to one a day due to the minute caffeine content in the cocoa powder) and water were his alternatives. And his butt was to be in bed by ten o’clock every night. Dean had primarily stated he was enforcing the latter because of the purple bruising under Sam’s eyes and wouldn’t retract it until they had vastly reduced. It had taken just over a week and yet Sam was still in bed by ten because his idiot of a brother thought it was doing Sam a world of good to be in bed at a reasonable hour. Only the nights they were out on hunts would he be free from the bedtime.

That was about the point Sam kicked up a stink. Sure he understood that Dean was only genuinely thinking of Sam’s health, but hello!!! Grown-assed adult who doesn’t need a bedtime! As usual Dean didn’t take Sam’s age into account. His big brother had instead swiftly made his authority known by tanning Sam’s hide and put him to bed in the middle of the freaking afternoon instead. The next day had seen him sitting on – Sam cringed – a naughty chair in the middle of the kitchen whilst his brother finally installed the new breakfast bar because he’d kicked off about the bedtime again. His sore bottom becoming extra sore from the three hard swats he’d received when he’d got up off the chair after being told not to move.

Message acknowledged and received. For now.  

They were meant to be discussing it again in a month’s time, but Sam doubted there would be any discussion actually involved when the time came. Not only would his body have become accustomed to going to sleep shortly after ten, but he doubted Dean would retract the new rule. Sam, however, would certainly take his shot at changing Dean’s mind. And hopefully he’d be able to put his point across without once throwing a tantrum.  

But for now, Sam closed his eyes with a grin, taking in the feel of the faint sunshine dancing across his skin. On a good day _this_ was Heaven. Turning right instead of the usual left he’d take to get to the street, Sam headed up the small and almost obscured dirt path leading around to the back end of the power plant. On one of his and Dean’s past explorations of the plant and the area around it, they’d found a large piece of land overgrown with weeds. The elevated level of ground the plant was built on and the thick line of trees was effective in hiding it from view of the street running parallel. Whilst the fence of large and overlapping trees on the opposite side and at the very far end made it a hidden treasure.

One Dean and Cas were currently sparring in.

Walking the weed free path that had been made, Sam reached the larger area that had been cleared of weeds before the rest of it could be done. He set two of the three water bottles in his hands down on the ground when he reached Dean’s discarded jacket and Cas’ sweater. Sam unscrewed his own water bottle and took a sip as he watched the two. He winced as Cas landed hard on the ground from one of Dean’s kicks, but the former angel immediately sprang back up, landing a punch to Dean’s smirking face that had Dean staggering sideways but remaining standing. Dean said something Sam couldn’t hear before laughing and dodging the kick Cas levelled at him.

Sam bit his lower lip, really hoping neither was using any powers outside of their strength here. They’d both promised not to go overboard and keep using the powers; to lay off at least until they could figure out how they still had the powers in the first place. Because if there had been an upside to being grounded, it was that Sam had been able to surreptitiously keep an eye on both his brother and Cas. To watch for any side effects the powers might be having on the older men’s human bodies. For now it seemed as though everything was normal, both men remaining healthy and strong. On the outside. Even though Dean and Cas said they both felt physically fine, who knew what the powers could be doing to them on the inside.

This was the first time Sam had had the opportunity to see the two sparring since the spell and he shook his head. Both were going to be a mass of cuts and bruises when they were done, because neither one was holding back from using their strength; both older men brutal in their kicks and punches. He winced again as Dean caught Cas in the back of the knee with a fierce kick, toppling the former angel to the floor. An irrational and childish surge of alarm swept through Sam at the thought they were going to really hurt each other - _kill_ _each other and leave him_ _all_ _alone!_ \- and his next breath got stuck in his throat.

Black spots were invading his vision…

 

_"Dean! Dammit, Dean! Stop already!" Sam yelled, hating that his brother was so far gone into growling anger that Dean had no idea what he was continuing to stir up. Because only his brother could go on a hunt to kill his tenth vampire nest in as many months to ease some of the constant aggression and end up pissing off a two hundred year old ghost._

_A powerful ghost that was currently doing its damn hardest to kill them both._

_The extreme wind the ghost had kicked up and dropped on their heads had seen them taking refuge inside a small mausoleum. The wind had nearly toppled both Sam and Dean to the ground on several occasions before they’d dove inside and now Dean was too busy taunting the ghost trapped outside the guarded walls, rather than helping Sam to figure out a strategy to get out there and gank the thing._

_“Dean! Stop! Please!”_

_Dean stopped his taunts, finally registering Sam’s voice. He turned his head to look at Sam who could have sworn he saw a flash of black in those hard green eyes when lightening forked across the tiny windows and briefly illuminated the small space they occupied. And it wasn’t the first time during these past months that he’d seen that flash of black, in fact its appearance was growing more frequent. The temperature around him dropped several degrees and Sam feared it had nothing to do with the ghost. His brother was walking towards him, movements dangerous and powerful, but Sam remained firm, keeping eye contact, even as he slowly withdrew his knife from his back waistband. In case it was necessary._

_God did he pray it wasn’t._

_“Dean …” Sam cut himself off as his brother’s right arm snaked outwards faster than Sam could register and Dean’s large hand clamped down on the back of Sam’s neck. Fingers squeezed against his skin, causing Sam to let out a soft hiss. He stifled it as best he could, remaining still, lest that hand change position and curl around the front of his neck instead. Because if those fingers squeezed there as tightly as they were against the back of Sam’s neck, Sam would have little choice but to bring the knife swiftly into play._

_“_ What _did I tell you earlier?” Dean growled lowly against Sam’s ear._

_Sam swallowed his fear, hating that he even felt it in the first place. But Dean was different now. In the past week it was as if a switch had been flicked. Dean had suddenly become that pure violent soldier John Winchester had moulded and the Mark was exploiting; with none of the playful, impertinent, loving, sarcastic and caring big brother left behind. It had left Sam walking on eggshells around Dean just to try and keep the peace. But more than once Dean’s anger had seen him bolting to get away; and more than once leaving him feeling like a complete and utter coward. He hissed again as the fingers wrapping around the back of his neck dug in a little more and shook him._

_"What. Did. I. Tell. You?” Dean hissed against Sam’s ear again, every syllable laced with the displeasure of having to repeat himself._

_Sam swallowed again and responded quietly, knowing to raise his voice again would be bringing forth even more fury. “To keep my mouth shut.”_

_He could feel Dean’s breath blowing against his cheek, could see Dean’s head nod down once out of the corner of his eye before lifting again._

_“I hear your voice again, boy,” Dean’s voice was whispered steel, “you’re gonna get what I promised you.”_

_Sam nodded jerkily, his hair brushing the side of Dean’s cheek before Dean straightened and moved back to the small windows to look outside again. Sam slipped the knife back into the waistband of his jeans before curling his shaking fingers into his palms and resting them on his knees. He thought back to earlier, before they’d come out here on this hunt. Back when he hadn’t had much choice but to follow as Dean had dragged him out of the bunker and shoved him into the Impala. And then when he’d pissed off Dean with a single spoken sentence in the confine of the car that had seen his brother promise to beat Sam’s ass with a switch until it was raw, bruised and bleeding if he didn’t shut his mouth and keep it shut for the rest of the hunt._

_Sam shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest to try and conserve some body heat in the chill of the mausoleum. He had never before been afraid of his brother. Sam had certainly always held a healthy amount of caution that came from knowing his big brother was the type of man who had no qualms about dishing out a swat or full spanking to his little brother’s behind, even though said little brother’s in his thirty’s. Sam had felt Dean’s hand across his butt on numerous occasions, as child, teen and adult, but Dean had never threatened him in the way he had in the car with that cold, calculating fury. Dean had always refused to use anything beyond his hand, an old hairbrush or a wooden spoon on Sam’s bottom, especially after he’d found out what John had done during the two month absence that Sam now knew Dean had spent at Sonny’s Home For Boys._

_Sam was determined to do as ordered because he knew this Dean would go through with the action he’d promised. Anger rose up within him, feeling like a useless spare part that Dean was lugging around just for the sake of needing its use some day, rather than the hunter he was. But this Dean was arrogant and obnoxious, needing no one’s help but his own. And Sam was only here because Dean dragged him, not because he was needed._

_Yes, Sam would do as he was told, but only because when he got his brother back he didn’t want Dean to wake to the knowledge he’d taken a switch to Sam and carved his butt into mincemeat._

_And honestly, he didn’t want to think it, but was getting his brother out from under the Mark’s influence even going to be doable anymore?_

_The unknown answer terrified Sam._

_#_

_Finally Dean had grown bored of taunting the ghost from within the confined walls of the mausoleum. He’d grabbed hold of Sam’s upper arm in a bruising grip and Sam had been yanked out of the door alongside Dean, shotgun in his hold. He kept his mouth shut about the treatment in accordance with Dean’s order, and about the fact he was more than capable of walking out of there without being dragged._

_Now, whilst Dean took pleasure in playing taunting chicken with the ghost, Sam was in a six-foot deep hole with skeletal remains two centuries old and in the process of smashing through the wooden coffin lid for a second time with his shovel. And more than ready to be done with this. Though the end of the hunt would mean getting back in the Impala with Dean. Sam contemplated hitchhiking or stealing a car. Or calling Cas. Anything not to have to be in that close a vicinity with Dean for seven hours where anything Sam did could set the man off into blazing fury; and there were a lot of trees lining their route home. He shook his head at the useless idea. Dean had already proven three days earlier - in total contradiction to the threats and violence towards Sam - that he’d hunt Sam down and drag him back; his brother’s usual overprotectiveness amplified by the Mark into two-hundred percent possessiveness._

_Since the change in Dean, his brother had stopped bolting away from Sam every time Sam pissed him off. And Sam could no longer run to his bedroom; Dean had ripped the door off its hinges and shattered the locks. So Sam had run the other way, out of the bunker. Dean had caught up with him halfway through Nebraska. Cas had placed himself between them, shoving Dean away from landing the next blow on Sam, and the look Dean had had in his eyes, the willingness to go through Cas to get to Sam. Sam had tried to shove the angel out of the way, but Cas hadn’t budged. Sam had sworn not to place Castiel in that position again._

_The crack reverberated through the graveyard as loud as a foghorn amongst silence._

_Sam froze, the shovel head skidding across broken wood with a clang. He knew that sound. He was as fluent in the sound of breaking bones as he was in Latin. The shovel slipped from his grasp without his noticing as he was already scrambling his way up and out of the hole, yelling his brother’s name. As soon as he was on his feet, he was searching for his brother and kicking up the shotgun from the grass, catching it in his right hand without even looking at it. He had it raised and aimed in seconds._

_“DEAN!!!” he yelled again, heart thundering painfully against his rib cage._

_No voice responded. But then, this new Dean might be just vindictive enough not to answer and leave Sam in even more darkness than that of the night surrounding him._

_Sam froze once again, but this time with the familiar prickling feeling creeping down his spine. He spun and fired, the rock salt scattering the ghost’s body into vapour. Sam knew he needed to finish this. The ghost would only keep trying to kill Sam to stop him from torching the bastard’s bones and Sam couldn’t help his brother all the while he was trying to fend off a ghost._

_He scrambled for the lighter fluid and matchbook, snatching them up just as the ghost reappeared, sending him flying backwards. He slammed into the ground, a soft cry of pain releasing from his throat as the hit jarred his previously injured shoulder. He hurriedly pushed himself back to his feet, shoving the pain to the back of his mind and sprinted for the grave. Throwing in the lighter fluid, he fired the last remaining rock-salt shell when the ghost lunged at him. Lighting the matchbook he tossed it in the hole, momentary satisfaction flooding through him as he heard the ghost scream, but he didn’t stick around to watch it burn._

_The shotgun slipped from Sam’s fingers but he barely noticed as he was already bolting towards the area he thought the sound of breaking bone had earlier come from, feet pounding over earth. His heart leapt into his throat as he spotted his brother’s form slumped to the side of a gravestone, unmoving._

Dean’s not moving. Why isn’t Dean moving? Maybe he’s just in too much pain from the break. It’s just a broken wrist. A broken leg or elbow. It’s …

_Sam skidded to a halt, breath coming in short gasps as the copper tang of blood hit his nostrils; a lot of blood. He dropped to his knees beside Dean, slowly and carefully easing Dean over onto his back. Sam’s body was instantly wracked with tremors as he saw the fatal wound on his brother’s head. Bile rose in his throat and Sam twisted to the side and threw up onto the grass. His brother’s head was broken; the front of Dean’s skull almost split in two. But it wasn’t registering yet with Sam. He was seeing it, but he was also seeing his brother’s head and face the way it always looked because Dean was just sleeping._

How could he not be? There was nothing wrong. They were okay. A broken wrist. A broken leg …

_Sam grasped the front of Dean’s shirt, dragging his brother up against him. “Dean, hey, Dean, c’mon. This isn’t funny, man. Dean, you gotta wake up.” Sam shook his brother lightly, not yet registering the movement shook Dean’s limp arms like they belonged to a rag doll. “You’re okay, big brother.”_

_The sound of wings momentarily had him shifting his gaze to the angel dropping to kneel beside them, tears in the dull blue eyes. Sam grew angry; now was not the time for stupid tears, it was time for healing, god dammit!_  

_"Cas..." Sam gripped the front of the angel's coat in a tight fist, "... you gotta help him! Heal him!"_

_"Sam," Cas said softly, hand coming down to cover Sam's and squeezing lightly. "he's gone. Dean's dead, Sam," the angel choked on the words, all composure stripped away._

_"No," Sam shook his head, "No. No, no, no, no, he's just ..."_

_It was the denial that set the avalanche in motion as Sam found himself tumbling over and over down through the rabbit hole until he hit dry earth with a bang; the truth hitting him like a hammer to the chest. And with the realisation, a keening cry as eerie as a fox crying in the dark of night swept over the resting places of the dead. It echoed off gravestones and walls of mausoleums before fading off into the distance and all that could be heard from that quiet and small cemetery in the silent and tiny town was the sobs of one who had lost all._

Dean …

_Sam could no longer feel the movement of his brother’s chest._

Is …

_Nor the familiar drum of heartbeat beneath his hand._

Gone.

_There was no life. A ghost had torn it away._

Dean is gone.

_"He'll come back, Sam," Cas' voice intoned, breaking through the sound of his sobs._

_Sam held on tighter, his cheek coming to rest against Dean's broken head. Knowing his brother would open his eyes again did nothing to curb his grief and the crushing weight of failure. Dean was gone from him again and the next time his brother opened those eyes - they would be pure obsidian; his brother's soul once again fully claimed by the Mark and the dark pits of Hell as it’s only remaining Knight._

_It was his fault._

_He'd said shit to Dean two years ago that had led his big brother down a path of receiving the Mark of Cain, because Dean thought the little brother he loved so much had completely and thoroughly abandoned him and everything their brotherhood stood for. So why not accept an ancient brand that would lead to darker paths when there was no one that cared. Sam fucking cares!! He gives a shit about what happens to his brother!! He'd willingly sacrifice his own life for the man who'd raised him, who had been an amazing big brother and everything else. He HAD made that sacrifice, not just to save the big brother he loved more than his own life, but the world that hadn't done either him or Dean any favours. _

_But that's why they did it, right? Because no matter how fucked up the world was, it was worth the save at the end of the day._

_But was it? When he was once again holding his brother's pale and cooling corpse in his arms was it worth it? Was anything worth that? As selfish as that made him sound, Sam didn't care, because..._ was it? _How many times was he meant to go through this? Or Dean go through this. Before that one time became one too many and they were a drooling mess staring out the window of the mental institute wishing for that one more day they were never going to get back again with the brother that meant the world._

_Sam would go quietly - the pills he had stashed away would do the job all in one go. He'd slip away to join his brother in a peaceful death he's never felt before. Did that make him a coward for having such a thought and not the strength to carry on? Some may call it cowardice, but hadn't he and his brother done enough for this godforsaken shit-hole to be owed a little bit of peace, even if that peace only came in a bottle of pills? Didn't they deserve that?_

_Or would they have to forever always keep fighting against the fragility of it all?_

_They had spent a lifetime not knowing from one day to the next whether they were going to survive. If big brother was going to outlive little brother. If little brother was going to outlive big brother. Or were big and little brother going to outlive everyone; to have to watch everyone they knew and loved die around them. Hadn't they lost enough? Mary, John, Bobby, Jess, Jo, Ellen, Rufus, Kevin… the list went on._

_Were they meant to lose each other indefinitely? Could someone please tell him?_

_Please?_

Please?

_“Sam, we have to go.” Sam heard the deep voice from the end of a long tunnel, his sobs echoes in his own ears. “If you wish to do the ritual the time is now.”_

_Sam pulled his brother in closer to his chest as he wrapped his arms tighter around Dean’s lifeless body. He could see, beyond the blood, the wound was already starting to knit itself back together._

_Dean would wake a demon once again._

_It awoke Sam slightly from his fog enough to remember that there_ was _a possible light at the end of this entire fucked up mess. Everything seeped away; Dean’s recent behaviour; Sam’s hurt; everything. And what seeped in was pure focus and determination the like of which could only belong to a stubborn Sam Winchester._

_Slipping an arm beneath Dean’s knees, the other around his back, Sam rose from the ground, Cas rising beside them. It was now Sam's turn to save his brother. And he was either going to cure him or set him free to go into permanent death._

Oh god.

_Sam straightened his shoulders as he carried his dead big brother to the car for the second time in a year. He could do this. He just needed to remember to breathe._

Breathe.

_Just breathe..._

 

“Breathe, dammit!”

Sam blinked. That sounded like Dean.

“Sam! I said breathe! Now!”

A force smacked against his chest sending Sam’s trapped breath rushing out of him. He coughed harshly and sucked in a lungful of fresh air, repeating the process several more times with several more coughs. He blinked. Was he lying on the ground? There was a hard surface beneath him and cloudy blue above him. There was a weight on his chest and he thought he heard his name being called. Blinking rapidly against the fog filling his mind, he startled as Dean’s bloodied face swam into his vision, his brother leaning over him. He shot upwards with a gasp and the accompanying fear that he hadn’t saved his brother after all.

_Die I die?_

_Is this Heaven?_

_Is this Hell?_

Unfortunately, all his abrupt movement did was send dizziness sweeping through his head to remind him that no, he was very much alive, and now quite unable to keep his breakfast from making an embarrassing reappearance.

All down his front.

“Whoa, okay, easy, Sammy,” Dean soothed, voice laced with concern as he and Cas gripped Sam’s upper arms on either side, and gently helped ease Sam into a better upright position. Dean moved behind him, a hand resting on Sam’s chest and easing him back to rest against Dean’s sturdy chest. “Grab one of those waters behind you, Cas.” Sam allowed himself to relax back into his brother. “Think you’re done, buddy?” Dean questioned against his ear, sending a jolt of memory through Sam to the last time his brother had done that, but he felt no fear pulse through him this time. His brother’s tone was calm, soothing.

Sam nodded lightly, indicating he was done with the throwing up. He blinked sluggishly again, eyes lowering from Dean’s bloodied face to Cas’ kneeling form, the worry written clearly across the ex-angel’s face as he handed the water over to Dean.

“All right, Sammy, rinse and spit,” Dean instructed as he twisted off the cap and set the rim of the bottle to Sam’s lips.  

The bottle was gently tipped upwards so the cool water instantly trickled into Sam’s mouth. He swished it around his mouth, before turning his head to the side with Dean’s continued support and spat it out. Dean had him rinse a couple more times, before Sam decided to swallow the next mouthful, grateful for the soothing liquid against his burning throat. He really hated throwing up.

“What happened?” Sam questioned groggily when he was done drinking.

“You damn well tell us, Sam,” Dean responded, gruff anger now coming through to mask his concern. “I’m in the middle of throwing a punch at Cas when I see you collapse. We both ran over and found you barely fucking breathing.”  

Sam’s forehead drew inwards. He took in Dean’s bloodied nose and split lip and then Cas’ torn eyebrow and cut chin. The memory of watching the sparring session and his sudden and unexpected fear of them killing each other and being left alone slammed into him again. He dropped his gaze to his lap, feeling the heat flare across his cheeks as he smelt and saw the mess coating his front; embarrassment dimming irrational fear and bringing back rational thinking.  

Needing to get away from the mess he’d made, he tugged on the hem of his outer and under shirt and started rolling them up from the bottom so at least he wouldn’t get the vomit in his face when he removed it. Hands stilled his own, and Dean took over, leaving Sam feeling even more like a child as tears burned his eyes. He hurriedly did his best to blink them away. Dean made short work of Sam’s shirts and they were both being tugged over his head and out of his arms in under a minute.

Then Dean’s hands were under his armpits and he was hauled up into his big brother’s arms. His butt came to rest on Dean’s left hip with Dean’s arm slipping underneath his butt in support. He blushed, unable to align his brain with the fact that – here he was, thirty-two and over three inches taller than Dean and yet Dean was carrying him with only one arm and with all the ease he had when Sam was still a toddler. He knew Dean had the strength to carry him, but it didn’t make sense to Sam’s intellectual mind as to how he still fitted against Dean’s hip like he was _made_ to be there. And he really wasn’t putting up much of a fight against it as his mind felt he should be, because he had already wound his legs around his brother, with one arm sliding around the back of Dean’s neck.

“I’m getting puke on you,” Sam mumbled, his blush intensifying as he knew there were spots of vomit on his jeans. “And I can walk.”

“Clothes get washed, kiddo,” Dean murmured against his ear, fingers brushing briefly over Sam’s cheek where Sam could feel the residue of a salty tear. “And I’m not sure if you realise it, kid, but you’re shaking like a leaf. It’d be better for us all if you didn’t break your neck from losing your balance.” Dean told him succinctly, the hand beneath his butt squeezing against his hip lightly and letting him know Dean wasn’t putting him down before they got inside.

Sam hadn’t realised he was shaking but now he’d been informed, he could feel the tremors running through his limbs. Dean turned them and Sam unconsciously gripped hold of the front of his brother’s shirt as if afraid he might fall – which was a stupid thought. He saw Cas standing beside Dean, the jackets and water bottles in his hold.

Cas offered a smile, and reached out, running a hand down Sam’s nearest arm, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance before letting go. Cas turned his eyes to Dean. “Would you like me to get his shower running?”

Sam stiffened at the idea. It was bad enough Cas had been witness to Sam losing his stomach, the last thing he needed was Cas witnessing him butt naked as well. That would be beyond embarrassing. A hand started rubbing soothing circles across his back and he looked at Dean, sighing in relief at the understanding he saw in his brother’s green eyes, one of which gave him a soft wink, letting him know he wouldn’t put Sam through that in his vulnerable state.    

 _Vulnerable?_ Sam scoffed inwardly. _Where’d that thought come from?_

As Dean answered Cas in the affirmative, adding, “Grab some clothes from Sammy’s room too. Just sweats, t-shirt and underwear, Cas,” a much larger part of Sam than his intellect was more than happy to simply bury his red face against Dean’s neck and just let big brother deal with everything.

He’d sort out these crazy emotions later.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam yawned against his brother’s collarbone for the millionth time as Dean carried him through the hallways of the bunker. He shifted his arm from around the back of his brother’s neck and scrubbed at an eye with a closed fist before absently slipping his thumb in his mouth and suckling on the digit. He felt super tired and was struggling to keep his eyes open even though he’d barely been awake for five hours. At this rate, and if he didn’t get his head together, Sam would undoubtedly find himself back in bed and taking a freaking afternoon nap because Dean would put him there without question.  

He blinked sluggishly, trying to open his eyes and keep them open, but the second he stopped thinking about them staying open they slipped closed again. He pulled his thumb back out of his mouth and scrubbed viciously at his eyes, a soft whimper passing his lips without him realising it.

“All right, buddy, we’re here now. Once we’re done with your shower you can have a nap, okay.”

See. There goes his brother assuming he needs a nap just because he can’t keep his eyes open. He didn’t need a nap. He was thirty-two fucking years old. He had things to do. Research to be getting on with. Anything else that consisted of not being put back to bed in the middle of the afternoon.

“Nooo,” he whimpered shaking his head against his brother in the negative. It took a moment for his brain to register exactly why it came out that way. _Oh great. Am I actually fucking crying right now? For the love of …_ _why?_ But the salty tears now silently trailing down his cheeks weren’t stopping no matter how much he told his brain there was absolutely no need for them.    

Sam felt a rush of warm air flow over the bare skin of his shirtless upper body and knew they’d entered the bathroom. He could hear the running water of the shower. His legs were suddenly and easily pried away from Dean’s body and shifted around so they were both in front of Dean’s waist, then Dean was sitting and Sam felt his bum hit his brother’s thighs. One of Dean’s hands was rubbing light circles over Sam’s back whilst the other rested against the back of Sam’s head as he continued to cry into his brother’s collarbone.  

_God, what is going on with me lately?_

He really didn’t understand where the earlier fear had cropped up from; or where the temper tantrum had sprung up from the other day; or why he had this constant need to want to suck his thumb. And that last may just be the craziest, because while he may have a lot of issues, he wasn’t usually this emotionally out of balance. He tried to deal with one thing at a time, but these emotions seemed to be flying at him from all different directions and he was finding himself bouncing off the walls in trying to curb them.

“Sammy, I gotta get you in the shower and warmed up, bud.” Dean’s voice broke into his thoughts.

A small whine left Sam’s mouth without his say-so, his body squirming against his brother in restlessness. He shook his head. He didn’t want a shower. He wanted to sleep.

Sam mentally threw up his hands.

_Seriously, what the hell?_

His brain and body seriously needed to start working properly and get in-sync with each other because this up and down, back and forth crap was seriously going to drive him insane. Thankfully right now his brother was in charge and could deal with Sam’s body and brain no longer working in tandem by shifting him around and doing it for him. Like now as Sam’s legs were raised one by one so Dean could remove his boots and socks; then flick open Sam’s jeans fly and briefly lift Sam up to get the denim material past Sam’s butt and pull them down Sam’s legs. Dean then kicked off his own boots, socks peeling off his feet without Dean touching them.

Sam blinked, before his tired brain caught up. _Right, telekinesis_. But his brother wasn’t supposed to be using his powers, was he?    

Sam shook his head, feeling as if he were having an outer body experience. He was there, but he wasn’t there, because he knew he should be feeling some form of embarrassment right now. His brother was undressing him for his shower and all Sam could do was sit back and let him because he was too tired to protest otherwise. Sure Dean had undressed him and seen him butt naked plenty of times, the man used to bathe him and change his diapers and had on occasion in the past decade had to change him out of destroyed and blood-caked clothing and shove him in the shower, but he was a big boy now. One more than capable of handling it himself if he could just get his body working correctly.

He did let out a squeak of protest as his boxers were stripped down his legs and he was carried into the shower and set on his feet under the spray, facing the inner wall. He braced himself against the wall in front of him, his legs shaky as hell. He heard the curtain being pulled closed across the pole, and panic flashed through him. _Where was Dean going?_   Oh god, he really wasn’t going to be able to do much more in this shower than stand under the spray without his brother’s assistance. But he needed to wash his hair and clean his body because he stank of puke. His eyes burned, fresh tears burning his eyes as they mixed with the water flowing over his face. His brother’s name left his throat in a strangled sob.  

"You're okay, baby boy, I’m right here.”

Dean’s voice was soft and right behind Sam. He snapped his head around to look over his shoulder, relief flooding his system as he saw his big brother stood there fully dressed in his black t-shirt and jeans. _Guess that’s why he removed his boots and socks_. His brother was getting soaked, but Dean was holding Sam’s bottle of shampoo and squirting a generous amount into his palm. Sam turned back around, trying to stifle his sobs whilst tipping his head back enough that his hair wasn’t directly under the spray. He was past ready to get rid of the stink of vomit from himself.  

Dean was swift but thorough in washing him, making sure everywhere was clean and rinsed before the shower was shut off; it had to have only been three to four minutes since Sam had been put in the shower. The curtain was opened and Dean stepped out instructing Sam to stay put. Sam shivered against the cool air. Dean returned quickly now dressed in grey sweats and a white t-shirt he’d probably grabbed out of the dirty laundry hamper. He held one of the softest and largest towels they owned and Sam found himself swiftly wrapped up in it, before he was once again in Dean’s arms and carried back over to the bench.

“Sammy, I gotta grab your clothes, so I need you to hold yourself upright for just a sec, okay? Can you do that for me, bud?” _Of_ _course I can_ , Sam thought and nodded as such, his eyes barely open. “Good job.”

Despite the fact he’d agreed, Sam was awake just enough to realise that when his brother’s grip on him released he would be unable to prevent his body from toppling sideways. And when that inevitably happened a few seconds later, the floor rushed up to meet Sam, but Sam was unaware of that fact because he was already fast asleep.

#

“Dammit, Sammy,” Dean cursed shooting back to halt his baby brother’s descent towards the tiled bathroom floor. He cursed his stupidity, realising he never should’ve let go of Sammy to hold himself up in the first place. The kid had barely been able to hold himself up throughout the shower so why Dean thought Sam would be able to do the same on the bench… Dean shook his head. He was an idiot.

Looking to the counter housing the three sinks on the other side of the room where Cas had inconveniently placed Sam’s clothing, Dean wasn’t going to be able to grab the items without letting Sam go first. Unless he used his telekinesis, but he’d already utilised that power to shift his socks earlier and he’d promised Sammy he would keep it to the minimum. Coming to a decision he grabbed Sam back up onto his hip, and crossed over to the clothing, swiping it up in one hand whilst he held Sam with the other. _Huh, who needs these powers_ , he thought smirking as he left the bathroom. _Although, admittedly, this strength is definitely coming in handy._

Sammy may not have the muscle mass of a few years ago, but the kid was still a hefty six-foot four sasquatch, who thanks to the strength Dean now held, currently weighed little more than a baby bird in Dean’s arms rather than a hundred-seventy pound heavyweight. Something Dean would be careful not to ever mention out loud in front of his baby brother.

Reaching Sam’s bedroom, Dean laid Sam on the bed and made short work of getting him dried and dressed in the sweats and t-shirt Cas had grabbed earlier. Lifting Sam back up, Dean grasped a corner of the comforter and threw it back before lying Sam back down on the sheet covered mattress. Pulling the comforter up, he tucked it around the kid’s shoulders just the way Sam liked it. Brushing a hand over the brown hair briefly, he leant down and placed a kiss to Sam’s head.

“What’re you doing to me, kid?” Dean said softly with a half-smile as he drew away feeling the love he held for his kid swell inside his chest.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Having changed into fresh clothing, Dean found Cas in the kitchen. His former angel was stirring a wooden spoon around a pot on the stove, and whatever was inside smelt awesome. Smiling, Dean crossed the kitchen and slipped his arms around the other man’s waist and rested his chin on Cas’ left shoulder. He could see Cas’ lips turn upwards into a grin.

“Mmm, what is that?”

“I found it in the freezer.” Cas nodded his head to a pink post-it now stuck to the edge of the extractor above their heads. It read: _chicken and leek soup for you laterz bitches, love Charlie xx_

Dean laughed softly remembering the last time Charlie had stayed over. Sammy had had a little sniffle and after having witnessed Sam so sick back during the demon trials, Charlie had gone into full-on overprotective mode. She’d cooked up several different broths and hot meals for both him and Sam to stash away in the freezer claiming they couldn’t permanently live on take-out dinners. Dean didn’t see the issue to be honest with you. He and Sam had lived on take-out and whatever Dean could throw together with mac ‘n’ cheese for most of their lives. Plus hamburger; but then who couldn’t cook up a decent hamburger?    

Cas paused in his stirring, turning his head to look at Dean. “I hope it’s still viable. I just grabbed it when I saw it was soup. I thought it would be good for Sam’s stomach." 

Dean smiled at the concern Cas’ had for his little brother. “He’ll love it, Cas. But he’s asleep at the moment.”

“Ah. Well, I'll reheat some if he wants any when he wakes. Do you want some, Dean?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean responded nuzzling Cas’ neck.

Cas chuckled. “The soup, Dean.”

Dean groaned and pulled away. “Yes, Cas, I would love some soup.”

“So how is Sam?” Cas questioned once they were seated on neighbouring stools at their newly installed breakfast bar running parallel to the kitchen island. Two bowls of hot soup and a shared plate filled with thick slices of tiger loaf sat on the wooden surface before them.  

Dean sighed. “I don’t know, Cas. It was like Sam’s energy got zapped the minute the kid hit the deck out on the green. I couldn’t even get him to keep his eyes open long enough to take his shower let alone get an answer out of him to what happened out there.”

Sam’s sudden collapse like that was definitely a cause for concern. Correction; it had scared the shit out of Dean and Cas both. Dean couldn’t see any physical reasoning behind it on his brother’s body; no injuries, bruises, cuts or otherwise. Sam hadn’t been showing any of his typical tell-tale signs of the onset or running of a fever; nor of a severe headache. The kid had been cranky the past couple days, but that was an effect of being cooped up too long from his grounding. Today, the kid had just… collapsed. And without any rhyme or reason nearly stopped fucking breathing entirely.

He watched Cas’ forehead crease into a frown as the other man tore a slice of tiger loaf in half and dipped it into his soup before eating it. “Considering how run down Sam has been of late,” Cas said with half a mouthful before he swallowed, “and with the taking of those pills on top, is it plausible he’s caught something?”

“From where, Cas? Neither of us are sick, so we haven’t passed anything on. And today was the first time he’s left the bunker in two weeks,” Dean responded, though Cas’ observation was reasonable.

Sam had driven himself into the ground in order to save Dean, and then Dean had gone and died on the kid – again. Then Sam had been under the weight of performing the spell correctly without killing himself or all of them in the process. That kind of built up stress could see anyone falling sick, and it wouldn’t surprise Dean if some latent bug decided now was the perfect time to swoop in and knock his kid on his ass.

He’d honestly just been working on instinct earlier when he’d hauled Sammy up into his arms outside on the green. After seeing the kid puking and trembling, carrying Sam had been a far more ideal option than letting the kid fall over his own feet on the sloped path back down to the bunkers entrance. But by the time Dean had reached the crow’s nest he’d been more than happy with his decision as Sammy had been yawning non-stop by that point and almost limp in his arms, with eyes at half-mast. 

Cas cleared his throat beside him and Dean could tell the ex-angel had something he wanted to say but looked reluctant to do so. Dean sighed.

“Spit it out, Cas.” Unfortunately his poor choice of words had Cas spitting out the spoonful of soup he’d just taken into his mouth back into his bowl. Dean stared at Cas’ confused expression before laughing.

“Why’d you want me to do that, Dean?” Cas’ gruff voice was just as confused as his expression.

Dean drew in his laughter with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t …” he waved a hand at Cas and then the bowl, “I didn’t literally mean for you to spit out your food,” he chuckled, “it’s an expression. Basically means tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Why can you not just say that?” Cas questioned in exasperation. “Just when I think I have a handle on all yours and Sam’s idioms you throw more into the mix.”

Dean shrugged innocently with a chuckle, breaking off his bread and dunking it into his soup. He let it rest for a moment to soak up the flavoursome broth before popping the now runny piece of bread into his mouth. “What _were_ you thinking?”  

Cas raised an eyebrow, scooping up more of his own broth. “I was thinking that perhaps we were overlooking a prominent reason for Sam’s collapse.”

Dean raised his own eyebrow. “What? Like the spell could have done more to him than erase the demon blood from his system? Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

Cas nodded. “We have no reason as to why the spell caused any of these side effects. I am no expert on spells, Dean, but I didn’t believe there was any one spell alone strong enough to do what this one did to us. Yet Sam somehow managed to work the spell to do so. Perhaps it’s time we seek an outside source.” Dean narrowed his eyes as Cas turned his gaze to him, eyes apologetic. “Someone more experienced in spells.”

“That ain’t happening, Cas,” Dean responded firmly. “I swore if I ever saw that bitch again I was gonna hack her head off. And a headless witch doesn’t make for great conversation.”

“Then I search for her alone.”

Whilst Dean hadn’t been fully effective in helping Sam research their current situation for the past two weeks – okay, he’d grown bored of looking at the same crap over and over again – he had been doing what he was good at. And that was teaching Cas how to be a hunter. This situation with the powers had proven it wasn’t going to be solved overnight. He and Cas were still kicking; they’re bodies hadn’t spontaneously combusted from inside out. But that silent fear of Sam’s couldn’t be discounted. It _was_ a possibility. And Dean knew eventually the research and hunt for answers would take them outside of the bunker. And into hunts. Hunts Cas would be expected to join in with.

Dean needed the former angel hunter ready. Meaning he’d first needed to teach Cas how to rely on himself without the assistance of any powers; to be able to fight just through the use of his body and weapons. Cas was very competent – but he knew solely how to fight as an angel and not as a human. He no longer had his smiting ability; and although Cas still had the strength and zapping all over the place abilities to utilise, that meant nothing without the knowledge of fighting where reflexes and the ability to calculate where your opponent’s next move might come from could save your life.

Second step was teaching Cas the basics of how to actually find a hunt; to filter out the norm from the crazy, and where the norm might actually be the hunt where the crazy was just that. It wasn’t Cas’ strong point that was for sure, but he didn’t suck at it as much as he had the few times in the past he’d tried to help them on that front. And Cas was really putting in the effort to try and understand everything. He wanted in. But only a true hunt would show how much promise Cas actually had for the job. The ex-angel was going to screw up, he was going to get things wrong, and Dean would let him know it.       

Dean and Sam may have been on a more equal footing where hunting was concerned for a good few years now, but at the end of the day… Dean was still in charge and they both knew it. Dean had been raised by a drill sergeant and though he may not be as near as harsh as John Winchester had been, Dean knew he was still a tough taskmaster. Every hunt came with the risk of major injury or worse, and as much as he expected Sam – and now Cas - to be on point and fully in the game he expected more of himself.

Cas wanting to go out there alone to hunt down that redheaded bitch went against Dean’s very nature of protecting what was his. So his response ended up short and succinct.

“No.”

Cas placed his spoon in his bowl and turned fully to face Dean. “While I appreciate your concern for my safety, Dean, _do not_ go all overprotective on me,” Cas told him, voice just as firm as Dean’s had been. “I am your partner, _not_ your baby brother.”

“Protectiveness is in my nature, Cas,” Dean responded succinctly with the truth. “I’ve spent my entire life being protective and I’m not gonna change anytime soon.”

“That I understand, Dean,” Cas acknowledged his voice softening. “And when it comes to hunting I will follow your lead. But you will not be able to protect me from everything, otherwise I’ll not learn efficiently.” Yeah, Dean was more than aware of that, he had had to let his baby brother go out alone into the big wide world when the kid had gone off to Stanford by himself. “And I also understand you’re used to being in charge, Dean,” Cas continued, “both home and away. I have no intention of stepping on that on hunts, but here, at home… we are equal in this relationship, Dean. That goes for all aspects, including how you – though I’m hoping someday that might become ‘we’ – continue to raise that boy we both love.”

Dean stared at the man before him, lips creasing upwards into a smile, eyes bright with the emotion of realising Cas was deadly serious. What had started as just sex between them, a means to scratch an itch, had developed into something far deeper and substantial than he could have imagined and really without his noticing. And… Dean realised he was okay with that. Dean was okay with the whole encompassing … this. And he was pretty sure _this_ was going to work because of one important factor.

Nobody Dean had ever dated had taken the time to understand that he and Sam were a packaged deal to any relationship (not in the way your dirty minds are thinking). Sammy’s _his_ _kid_ – always had been. And no kid was ever too old to raise them up. Cas, an awkward, blunt and more often than not confused former angel understood that. But since when did Cas learn so much about human relationships?

“Metatron.”

“What?” Dean questioned confused, pretty sure he hadn’t voiced that out loud, though maybe he’d accidentally opened the mind connection between them.

Cas smiled lightly. “Your last thought was rather loud.” Dean snorted, throwing an arm over the back of Cas’ stool and leant over, meeting Cas’ lips with his own. Cas pulled back after a moment. “We do need any information we can get, Dean.

Dean dropped his head with a groan. “Seriously, right now? I was getting kinda busy.” Cas raised an eyebrow. Dean sighed. “Fine, Cas, we’ll hunt the bitch. But I ain’t promising she’ll still have a head the second after she opens her mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure I'm fully happy with this


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick few notes before we get on with the story - 
> 
> 1) Once again a resounding thank you to all who have left comments, kudos and have bookmarked this story. I'm truly amazed by the response this story has received. You guys are awesome!! You feed me fuel and inspire me to continue to write this. Keep it up, please. 
> 
> 2) I’m so sorry it’s taken nearly two months to get this out! I’ve definitely struggled with this one, in terms of the order of what’s written. This chapter has been rewritten at least six times (and that's without the proofreading). And then I wanted to get a good few chapters written before positing this one. Chapter 7 is written and chapter 8 is partially written. Once I’ve proofread 7 it definitely won’t take as long as this one to get it posted :) 
> 
> 3) Also, in the course of writing this, I’ve come to the realisation that I jump around with my tenses. I apologise for that, and I am trying very hard to keep my writing in the correct tense. So if there’s any mistakes just, you know, ignore them, lol :) I'll go back when the story is complete and correct the first five chapters. 
> 
> 4) I know where I'm going with this story, where I need to get to, but if anyone has a suggestion as to what they'd like to see I'd be more than happy to write it as long as I can fit it within the realm of the story (and that it's actually something I can write. I’m not great shakes at smut). That's how the idea for Sam's flashback to Dean's death in chapter 5 came about. So I'm happy to take suggestions into consideration. 
> 
> Sorry for the long note! On with the story! :-) xxx

Dean runs against the gale, sending out a silent plea that he’ll find his baby brother in time. His lungs are burning, but he can’t stop. He won’t stop. There is no stopping. Not with Sammy’s life in danger. Every second counts. He has to reach Sammy before that black-eyed sonuvabitch can wipe his kid off the map.

Laughter pierces through the whistling of the wind blasting around the graveyard and fear wrenches within Dean’s gut. He skids to an abrupt stop seeing the figure standing at the edge of the open grave, silently staring down into the pit. He draws in a sharp breath, spotting the familiar shaggy hair belonging to his brother; the top of Sammy’s head visible over the cusp of the grave where he’s slowly digging within, Sam’s back to the one watching him. 

No hunter senses will be able to clue Sam into the danger.

Dean runs for his brother.    

“SAM!! SAMMY!!” Dean yells, the wind snatching away the sound of his voice the second it leaves his mouth. “SAMMY, TURN THE FUCK AROUND!!!” He screams, seconds before slamming into a brick wall. The impact shocks the air straight out of his lungs and splinters his nose, blood spurting in several directions. He yells with the pain, his ass hitting ground heavily and leaving him gasping for needed air as he coughs the blood out of his mouth.

Dean pushes his way to his feet, despite the pain, despite his lack of breath. As he does, he’s hurriedly trying to come up with a way of navigating around this new obstacle preventing him from reaching his brother, only to realise that nothing but air greets him. There is no brick wall. There is no wall. There is only headstones in the ground all around him. Reaching his arms out before him, his fingers meet resistance. He pushes his hands flat against some invisible barrier that blocks his path. Throwing his weight behind his hands, his eyes shoot to Sammy still digging, still so very unaware of the danger behind him. The fear in Dean’s gut snakes its way up into his heart as he cautiously stretches his arms outwards on either side of him, coming in contact with the same resistance presented in front of him. He steps back, takes another step, and meets the same unseen wall.

His heart speeds up, thudding against his ribs. He slams his fist into the barrier, pain blossoming over his knuckles as the skin splits open. But he ignores it in favour of punching and kicking at the barrier, trying to find a weakness he can utilise to penetrate through. But there is none. It’s solid. Nothing is getting through. Movement stills his desperate attempts to free himself, and as he watches that figure slowly crouch down at the graveside, the realisation sinks in as to Dean’s situation.

He’s caged. 

Unable to assist his brother only feet before him.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU EVIL SONUVABITCH!!!” Dean roars, shoving himself against the invisible barrier trapping him in.

Unable to save Sammy.

Because Dean is fucking USELESS!!  

Dean can only watch, snarling his rage, as the demon lashes out quick as a flash and grabs Sam around the back of the neck; a startled yelp releasing from Sammy’s throat along with the clang of the shovel hitting wood. The demon drags Sam out of the grave by the scruff of his neck. Sam’s struggling against the hold, scrambling to get his feet underneath him, but it is of little use as the demon throws Sam across the graveyard like a ragdoll. Dean punches the barrier as Sam crashes into the ground and slides a few feet across the damp grass.  

Sammy turns over and Dean chokes back a sob as he’s greeted with the first clear look at his baby brother’s face, the fear in those eyes. _Shit_. Deep purple and red bruising litters Sammy’s left cheek, eye and eyebrow which is split in two by a jagged and deep, semi-healing gash. Yellowish-green bruising lingers around the other eye, while several deep cuts are slashed across Sammy’s cheeks, his lips split in several places. The worst bruising is around the kid’s throat; finger-shaped bruising. Trapped in his prison, Dean can only watch as the demon stalks towards Sammy who is struggling to push himself backwards with his elbows and feet, clearly hiding far severer injuries beneath his clothing.

 _Fuck_.

Dean’s booted foot slams into the barrier as Sammy is hauled into the air with a flick of the demon’s wrist, his boy’s body twisting around in mid-air until Sam drops. Landing on his stomach atop a tall headstone with a cry, Sammy’s body hangs over each side, neither his toes nor his fingers touching ground. But Dean’s kid still struggles, still fights, no matter how much his attempts are just as hopeless as every punch and kick Dean throws at the barrier surrounding him.

Sam’s pinned by the demon’s powers. 

Dean’s eyes widen with increased fear for his baby brother at the sight of the long thin branch appearing in the demon’s right hand. He slams his full body against the wall. “DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!! DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HIM!!!”

Snarls escape Dean as the demon curls its fingers into the back waistband of Sam’s dirty jeans and uses its strength to rip them away, Sam’s underwear tearing away with them. Dean gags. Sammy’s butt and thighs are black and blue, bruises overlapping bruises and not an inch of healthy, normal skin can be seen.

_Fuck!_

Squeezing his eyes shut, hot and silent tears trickle down Dean’s cheeks. He hears it rather than sees it; the whistling sound of the switch slashing downwards, striking the bruised flesh of Sam’s backside. Sammy’s pained yell snaps Dean’s eyes back open. Sammy’s trying to thrash against the invisible binds locking him over the headstone, the switch having slashed a line through his skin, blood oozing out. Dean flinches as the demon rears its arm back and lashes the switch down, utilising every ounce of its strength to bring that length of wood down, the hit cutting into flesh once again.

Over and over the switch falls, tearing Sam’s butt into mincemeat before Dean’s eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers, dropping his forehead against the barrier, flinching with every hit, with every scream torn from his little boy’s throat. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT! STOP IT!! FUCKING STOP IT!!!!!”

Fury beyond anything he’s ever felt before charges through Dean’s veins. Rearing backwards, he slams himself against the barrier, again and again, throwing all of his strength, reserves and more, against it. The barrier crumbles and Dean is falling forwards with surprise, just managing to set his hands underneath him as he hits ground. He’s up and running within milliseconds, swinging the colt in his hold up to the demon’s head.

The demon slowly turns its head to look at Dean before he can pull the trigger. Liquid black eyes stare out of the face Dean looks at in the mirror every day, the vicious smirk twisting Dean’s face into something evil.

The demon laughs.

“I’m gonna take my sweet time with little Sammy here, Deano,” the demon wearing Dean’s face growls. “You can wait your turn. We both know I’m gonna overpower you eventually. _You_ are just a weak fragment of a larger whole. And this,” the demon gestures at its body, _Dean’s_ body, “is much stronger. This is freedom from _everything_.”

Dean pulls the trigger.

Fucker can have his freedom.

With the release of the demon's powers upon him, Sam slumps sideways off the headstone and Dean just manages to catch him before he hits ground. “I gotcha, Sammy. I’m here,” he whispers, gently turning Sammy over onto his side as not to hurt him any further.

Dean jolts backwards with a yell, the sunken corpse of his baby brother slipping from his hold …

Dean snaps awake, his body jolting upwards from the table. He swallows back the nausea threatening to overtake him, realising he’s in the bunkers library and not that graveyard. The same graveyard he died in. The same graveyard that had been haunting his nightmares ever since. Except the outcome is always so very different to what happened on that day. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he pushes his chair back and stands, crossing to the whiskey decanter on the shelf. Grabbing a glass, he pours a generous amount and chugs it back, swiping the back of his hand against his mouth. He pours himself another.

“Same one?”

Dean turns his gaze to Cas standing just inside the archway leading up from the crow’s nest, book in hand. “Yeah.” He swallows back a mouthful of whiskey. “Why’d you let me sleep?”

“Because you needed to rest,” says Cas in return. “You cannot keep going on like this, Dean. Allowing your actions under the Mark’s influence to eat away at you. It won’t help you or Sam. You did _not_ do those things to your brother.”

“I didn’t?” Dean snaps, snorting harshly. “So those weren’t my fists beating on my baby brother that time _you_ had to pull me away from Sammy, that right, Cas?”

“Dean …”

Dean slams his glass down. He can’t deal with Cas wanting him to talk about this right now. He hurries through the door to the right of the telescope, ignoring Cas calling after him, and enters the hallway with the most direct route to their bedrooms. He hasn’t gone very far before he staggers against the wall, slumps over and puts his head in his hands.

Cas can say it all he wants, that what Dean did under the Mark of Cain’s influence isn’t Dean’s fault. But Dean knows better. And Sam, with his too big freaking heart, may not hold Dean’s actions against him, but Dean does. Dean may not have gone to the extent at which his nightmare was eluding to, but the intent was there. He _had_ threatened to mincemeat his baby brother’s backside with a switch just for doing the most natural of things; talking. Dean _had_ beaten Sam with his fists when his little brother had taken off the day Dean had torn the kid’s bedroom door from its hinges – and therefore taken away the very safe haven Dean had made for Sam against that situation. Sam would have ended up in the same bruised and beaten state from Dean’s nightmare if Cas hadn’t stopped Dean.

Dean could spend a lifetime making it up to Sam. Trouble was Sam won’t let him. To Sam it hadn’t been Dean doing those things; it’s all in the past; it’s over and done with. And for Sammy, Dean can accept that. But in the dark recesses of Dean’s mind it still eats away at him if he lets himself think about it. Because he had nearly become what he had always sworn to his kid and to himself that he would never become. The kind of person who dishes out a beating for no god damn reason except for being in a bad mood; the kind of person who whips a kid’s ass until its bleeding because their very presence pisses them off and then makes the kid believe they deserved every lick. The kind of man Dean’s father had become with Sam the few times Dean wasn’t around.

Dean had made promises a long time ago and he’d nearly broken every one of them. And when the Mark was gone, he had promised himself that he would never physically discipline Sam again out of fear of losing his temper like that once more. And while Dean knows he has a bad temper, he’d had to learn at an early age how to keep it under tight control when punishing Sam. Pushing himself upright, Dean shoves away from the wall and starts walking, briefly scrubbing his hands over his hair. It was why he’d dished out a grounding for Sam’s painkiller consumption rather than the spanking he no doubt would have before. But that promise hadn’t lasted very long. And it had taken every ounce of willpower he had to actually go through with it – to raise his hand and give Sam what he needed from Dean.

These past years, ever since collecting Sam from Stanford, Sam’s had enormous leeway to be a grown-ass adult because Dean’s been nowhere near as strict with Sam as he had when Sammy was younger. That’s not to say Sammy hasn’t had his butt tanned after they partnered up in hunting, because he has, but there were definitely moments there where Dean’s leniency made for huge mistakes; where he should have reeled Sam in and didn’t because he was going through his own shit. Or was too hurt by Sam’s actions to do the right thing for the kid.

And Sam might be able to fool everyone else that his grown-ass self is the most independent shit on the planet, but the kid actually welcomes structure. It’s partially the reason Sammy flew so far out of control when Dean went to Hell. And in shoving Bobby aside as well, the kid had left himself wide open to that skank Ruby’s manipulations, with no one there to look to for guidance. To throw those small, inquiring looks – that Dean knows the kid still thinks he’s being oh so inconspicuous about – to figure out if an action he’s taking is the best course. And it was why, where Sammy's behaviour was concerned, Dean had also learnt at an early age to give his little brother two things without fail: consistency and consequences.

Dean had always been consistent in applying rules and following through with consequences if those rules were broken. Ironic, considering the laws both of them have broken over the years. But those are made to be that way in the lives of hunters living on the outskirts of society. Those are not the rules Dean had set out long ago. In keeping to consistency of consequences, both actions had given Sam the structure he craves. The structure Dean had tried his hardest to give Sam as a child, but was often disrupted due to John’s constant disappearances and then his reappearance, days, weeks or months later. The latter becoming more of a regular timeframe as Dean had aged. That’s why Sam’s craving for that same structure is even stronger now.

Spanking had always been the most prominent of consequences because it was always the best deterrent where Sammy’s concerned. But Dean hadn’t realised just how much Sam silently depends on that in his structure of consequences in everyday life. Oh the kid hates getting his butt spanked and he’ll protest sky-high against it, which is exactly why it works for Sam.

But Dean had taken that away. And the kid had known it without Dean even saying one word.  

Which is why, a week on from Dean refraining from spanking Sam for his painkiller intake, Dean had been pushed, shoved and stomped all over the floor by Sammy. And Dean had taken it, knowing he deserved it.

It hadn’t been until Sam had thrown his very genuine temper tantrum about his new bedtime sticking around permanently that realisation had sunk in. And Dean had felt like a complete dick for not seeing it sooner. Sam had been goading him the whole time. Purposely being the biggest giant brat he could be until Dean took his head out of his ass. Dean had had to sit back and carefully weigh up his options whilst waiting for Sam to calm the hell down from his tantrum. It had boiled down to two options; he either spanked Sam, or he didn’t. Dean had opted to put Sam across his knee. Blowing his promise wide open in the process.

It had physically hurt inside him to take Sam’s pants down and apply his hand to the bare flesh of his brother’s butt, to redden the skin to the point the sting would linger for a good few hours, to cause Sam to cry in pain. Dean hadn’t come away from that without shedding a few stray tears of his own. But for once, he was able to climb his way through it and bring himself out of that dark pit in the course of the spanking. The realisation striking him that he needed the same structure Sammy craves, but at the other end of the spectrum. Because where Sam craves the discipline the structure gives, Dean craves the control; that’s where _he_ lives. Being in charge, and taking control of that charge, is where he needs to be.

Sam once said Dean had to let him grow up. Dean had finally told him he wasn’t a kid anymore before Sam had said ‘yes’ to the devil. Dean had lied to Sam that day, he had lied to himself. Because Sammy’s innocence sees him sitting too far on the side of kid rather than adult; it always has and always will. Neither of them can change that no matter how many times they might try. Dean had lied to Sam because Sammy needed to hear those words from Dean; that Dean finally saw Sam as enough of a grown up to make that kind of decision and go through with it, to be strong enough to fight back against Lucifer and throw himself and the devil down into the Cage. Even when it went against every fibre of Dean’s being he had said the words. Lying to himself so he didn’t stop Sam from going through with it, and to prevent the dive Dean would’ve taken down that pit after his kid if he could’ve. But the significance of Sammy’s sacrifice would’ve been dwindled to nothing if Dean had killed himself. And he had thought about it on those really dark days, especially after finding no way to get Sammy out without releasing Lucifer all over again. Lisa had found him more than once staring down the barrel of his gun.   

The Mark of Cain had brought Dean's lies to the surface; had revealed how much Sammy will always be a kid rather than the adult he should be allowed to be. How much Sammy is still his baby brother at home and within their hunting team, rather than sitting in the equal spot he should hold at Dean's side. But Dean can't. It's a trait of Dean's personality he just can't fix. He doesn't have it in him to treat Sam any differently. More so now than ever before and he really doesn't understand why that is. He just knows they need to get back to being on the same footing on both sides, home and hunting; settling back into the roles they belong and staying there without losing any of the lessons they've learnt over the past ten years.

And that means he needs to be firmer with Sammy, stricter. Without descending into being an abusive bastard. Sam is and will always be Dean’s responsibility; that is never going to leave Dean, no matter if the kid’s nine or ninety. And if in his sleeping hours Dean’s tormented by his actions as a demon and under the mark’s influence… that is never going to leave him, but maybe it’s time he lets Cas help with that. Instead of shoving Cas away whenever the nightmares make an appearance.  

Dean comes to a stop. His feet have walked him to the low-lit hallway of Sam’s bedroom. Sam’s door sits ajar just as it had two hours previously, during Dean’s last check-in. Glancing down at his watch he took note of the time: 09:43; Sammy’s been out for the count for just over twenty-three hours now. To say Dean’s worried is an understatement. He and Cas had hit the books shortly after their soup in the kitchen, knowing at this point in time that anything could be related to the spell used to remove the Mark. In between pouring over Latin and throwing the Enochian written texts Cas’ way, Dean had been calling contacts, looking for any and all leads on Rowena. It was proving more difficult than it should be but they can’t get out there and hunt the bitch down themselves until after Sam wakes up. Nor will they know whether or not the theory Cas’ has come up with for the reasoning behind Sammy’s collapse is accurate until Sam wakes either.

Dean fucking hates the theory no matter how plausible it may be. And if it does prove to be correct… they’re up shit creek without any paddles all over again.

It’s a waiting game at this juncture.  

Pushing open Sam’s bedroom door, the low lighting from the hall filters over the room. It takes Dean a moment to realise what it is that he’s seeing, but then his brain catches up and a grin spreads across his lips, a snort of amusement leaving him before he’s laughing, the tension draining from his body. Sam doesn’t even stir at the sound.  

Sammy’s undeniably a fidget in his sleep. The numerous times Dean’s had to share a bed with his baby brother and ended up right on the edge, almost fallen out, or actually fallen out because of Sammy’s fidgeting is testament to that. Pulling out his phone, Dean snaps a quick photo, the opportunity just too good to pass up. He stores it in his Sammy file amongst the other stupidly adorable photos Dean has of the kid – the one’s he’ll deny owning. Ever.

Sammy’s blankets and pillows are all on the floor. The kid himself has somehow curled his ginormous frame right on the lower left-hand corner of the bed, his head and right arm hanging over the edge of the mattress, while the left arm is half-tucked underneath him, the thumb half-hanging from his open lips. His legs are tucked up under his torso, with his half-naked butt in the air, his sweats and boxer-briefs having partially fallen down his butt due to his fidgeting, also a common occurrence. Dean had awoken more than once to that sight unfortunately.

Mirth under control, Dean approaches the bed with a shake of his head and a lingering smile. One more movement from Sammy and the kid is over the edge and on the floor. Pulling the boxer-briefs and sweats back up to fully cover Sammy’s rump, he scoops Sam up and deposits him on his stomach at the right end of the bed and in the centre of the mattress. He foregoes shoving a pillow back under Sam’s head and sets the pillows on either side of the kid’s body instead. Hopefully they might keep him from fidgeting off either side of the mattress. Picking up the blankets, he grasps two corners and shakes them out in the air, letting them drop over his kid.

Rounding the bed, Dean runs a hand over the kids head, a fraction of the weight on his shoulders lifted. It might be a peculiar sleeping position but the fact that Sammy had fidgeted his way into that position in the past two hours since Dean last checked him is a good sign. It means Sammy’s crawled his way up from unconsciousness and into natural sleep. It shouldn’t be long now before Sammy wakes fully, at least another few hours.  

Enough time for Dean and Cas to get in some more research, call more contacts and possibly get some food and a shower in there somewhere. Dean knows he is starting to ripen, neither he nor Cas have had a chance to shower after or since their sparing session out on the green yesterday.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean runs a hand over his chin and cheeks as he heads for Sam’s room after finally managing to fit in a shower and a shave. His stubble isn’t as trimmed as he usually wears it, but it would suffice. It’s not the first time it’s been scruffy and the length of the hair on his face really isn’t Dean’s top priority at the moment. That spot belongs to Sammy, who still hasn’t woken up. It’s been just over three hours since Dean found the kid only inches away from toppling off his bed and Dean’s seriously starting to think about trying to shake his kid awake. Cas, however, is adamant that they should leave Sammy to wake in his own time and unfortunately Dean had agreed. Sammy has only been sleeping a natural sleep for around five hours and obviously the kid still needs rest. 

Grasping hold of Sam’s door edge, Dean pushes it open slightly, cringing when he hears the irritating squeak of the second-hand hinges. He really needs to fix that. Because Dean either screwed them on too tightly to the doorframe or they just need some oil to get them moving freely without noise again. Though as he frowns at the room before him, hitting his fist against the light switch on the wall next to him, Dean wonders whether he can actually make that noise louder. To be heard throughout the entire fucking bunker. Then maybe this situation could be avoided. Because as the light flares it reveals exactly what Dean's seeing.

Sam’s _empty_ bed.

“Sam?” Dean calls, moving into the room and quickly checks the floor the other side of Sam’s bed in case his baby brother did eventually fidget his way off the mattress, but Sam isn’t lying on the floor.

Dean proceeds to check every conceivable space within the medium sized room in case Sammy had a nightmare, or a freak out or something and tried hiding his large frame away. Sammy has sure done that before, hidden himself away in a small space you definitely wouldn’t expect him to be able to curl his ginormous body into. Nothing. With the eyes of an experienced hunter, Dean surveys his surroundings; observing the thrown back covers; the phone lying silently on the nightstand next to Sam’s wallet; the boots still seated on the floor beneath the wooden desk chair where Dean earlier placed them; the clothing draped over the back of the same chair; the guns and knives sitting atop the kid’s desk. Everything is still in the same place it should be.    

Everything except for Sam.

Dean turns abruptly on his heel, being careful to keep his shit together. He’ll have his own freak-out if Sam doesn’t turn up in the next god damn five minutes. Sammy has been out for a long time so he undoubtedly woke to a full bladder and needed to use the toilet. But upon entering the bathroom, Dean can immediately see not one of the three toilet cubicle doors is closed fully. He still pushes them all open, checking each one and coming up empty. He throws back the five shower curtains, still finding no trace of his baby brother.

“SAM!” He yells and waits.

He receives no response. He steps out into the hall and does the same thing, yelling his little brother’s name down the hall in both directions. Again Dean receives no response from his younger sibling. A soft growl of frustration releases from Dean’s throat as he moves off quickly down the hallway. He hears footsteps approaching from down the hall and moves to intercept, knowing its Cas and not Sammy before they even meet in the hall.

“Dean, what ...?” Cas immediately starts to question, taking in the worry creasing his partner’s face.

“Sammy’s not in his bed. He’s not in the bathroom. We need to do a search of the place top to bottom,” Dean rushes out before giving quick-fire instructions for the areas of the bunker Cas is to search whilst Dean takes the rest. They separate quickly, hurrying off in different directions.

 

#

 

“He couldn’t have gotten past me, Dean,” Cas tells Dean, the pair of them standing in the library near the crow’s nest entrance twenty minutes later. They’ve cleared the entire bunker and there is still not one sign of Dean’s baby brother. “I moved into the crow’s nest after you fell asleep. The main bunker door is not exactly quiet. Even absorbed in books, I would have heard it open and close. I am not that lax to my surroundings.” 

“Then how the hell could Sam have gotten out of the bunker, Cas! He didn’t go through the front door, he hasn’t taken a car – thank fuck! - there’s no indication the garage doors have even been opened since last I brought the Impala in; neither the inside doors nor the outer.” Dean has his fingers buried in his hair in frustration. “There’s no other way out! How could he have …” Dean stops in his tracks, releasing one hand from his hair to smack it against his forehead, staring at Cas with wide eyes.

Cas frowns back at him, before realisation dawns in the former-angel’s eyes.

“The escape hatch,” they chorus, already bolting towards the hall.

Sam and Dean had found the escape hatch on one of their explorations, though it isn’t exactly a hatch at the bottom. Its door matches the rest of those in the main bunker, blending into its surroundings, but it leads into a small cylindrical shaft equipped with just a metal ladder. Dean had ascended it and found a hatch at the top with Enochian sigils, demonic-warding and a couple of other unknown sigils coating the inside. Twisting the flat handle until a loud click reverberated down through the shaft, Dean had shoved the hatch upwards and climbed out, finding himself inside a small room within the power plant. The top of the hatch covered with just as many sigils as the inside.        

Now as he stands at the bottom of the ladder, shining his flashlight upwards, he can clearly see the hatch is open. Either Sammy had climbed out of his own free will, or - and worst case scenario - something that could bypass the sigils and wards had sneaked into the bunker and taken Sammy out without Dean and Cas’ knowledge. And as Dean can’t see any reason as to why Sam would just leave, shoeless and still in his pj’s, Dean is leading towards the latter. And when Dean finds whoever or whatever it is …

“Does Sam sleepwalk?”

Dean almost smacks his head on the ladder as he spins around to look at Cas. Flinching, Cas throws up a hand to shield his eyes and Dean quickly drops his flashlight beam to his partner’s chest. “What’d you say?”

“Does Sam sleepwalk?” Cas repeats more slowly.

 _Does_ … Dean starts to go over the words in his mind, before he abruptly steps forwards and grabs Cas’ face, smashing his lips to his partner’s. “Genius,” he states after pulling away. He starts to hurry off only to stop with impatience as Cas calls after him.

“What about the hatch?” Cas queries, shining his own flashlight up the shaft.  

“Let’s get Sam first, then I’ll go up and close it. C’mon.” Dean gestures down the hallway with his hands.

Cas shoots him a worried glance. “But what if Sam tries to sleepwalk back down it? It would only take one second for his barefoot to slip off a rung, Dean.”

Dean lets out a sigh. Jogging back to the shaft, he throws a glare at his partner for even thinking Sam is clumsy enough to slip off a ladder, sleepwalking or not. And fine, yeah, maybe Cas is right, but the more time they waste here, the further away Sammy can get. There’s no telling how long his kid has been gone for. Sticking his flashlight in his mouth, Dean scales the ladder and climbs out, taking a minute to look around the area. He’d doubted Sammy would have climbed the ladder only to sit on his ass in the power plant which is why Dean hadn’t climbed up here to begin with. But now that he’s here, he exits the small room through the open door and steps out onto what he knows to be the third layer of wide mezzanine running along the inner edge of the huge building. He flashes his flashlight around, yells his brother’s name and receives no response. The likelihood of Sammy sticking around in the plant and falling back into a normal sleep was definitely unlikely.

Returning to the small hatch room, Dean climbs back into the shaft, pulling the hatch closed behind him. He twists the flat handle, locking the hatch in place. Descending the ladder, he shakes his head at Cas when he reaches the bottom. “No sign. Think you’ll be able to sense for him once we’re up top?”

Cas’ eyebrow arch’s. “Do you think that wise with what we earlier discovered, Dean?”

“No, Cas, I don’t okay!” Dean snaps back in frustration. “I just wanna find my kid.”

"As do I, Dean. But we won't be helping Sam in the long run if we resort to that."

Rubbing a hand over his hair and taking a moment to steady himself, Dean nods sharply knowing full well Cas is right. "Let’s get out there then.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam’s blind. 

His scream gurgles in his throat. His head is tipped backwards against the edge of what feels like a metal surface, painfully stretching his neck. While his mouth is held forcefully open by invisible fingers, trapping the sound from releasing fully from him. He’s pinned down, unable to move, and yet he can feel no bindings holding him in place. He tries to struggle, but at the slightest movement of any limb, a heavy and uncomfortable weight settles over his body, crushing him. It stills his movements and snatches his breath away. Leaving him little choice but to fall still once again. Then the weight lifts from him and his nostrils flare with the force in which he inhales his next breath.

_Where’s Dean? Dean?! DEAN!! Dean, Dean, Dean …!!_

Sam flinches when he feels liquid drip onto his tongue and begin to pool in his mouth. He pushes all of his concentration into preventing it from sliding down his throat. A bitter taste floods his taste buds and makes him gag and spit out the majority, only for his mouth to swiftly fill again. Something – a hand? – clamps down over both his mouth and nose, cutting off his ability to breathe freely and eventually forces him to swallow down the bitter-tasting liquid. He coughs the second the pressure lifts from his mouth and nose, feeling residue of whatever it is he’s just swallowed trickling down his chin. He coughs again, hoping he might throw up, but nothing happens.

Sam freezes as he feels a presence beside him; one that sends an ice-cold shiver running down his spine. Someone – or something – is on his left, leaning down right next to his face. He can smell the stagnant breath and feel it blowing against the stubble on his cheeks with every exhale.

“Better than mother’s milk,” the whispered words puff against Sam’s ear.

 _Oh god, no._ Sam feels like his hearts stuttered to a stop. He can feel the blood in his veins freeze up. _No no no no no no …_

How can this be? This can’t be real! Sam desperately thrashes, fruitlessly fighting to get away. He has to get away. This can’t be happening to him! Not again! Yellow Eyes is dead! Azazel’s dead! Gone! Extinguished! Snuffed out of existence! Dean saw to that with a direct shot between the eyes from a Colt bullet. That demon can’t be …

“Missed me, Sammy?” the voice whispers amused.

A hoarse scream leaves Sam’s throat as he curls tighter into himself, laughter echoing in his ears. His breathing is warring against the sobs threatening to vacate his mouth whilst his heart thuds a frantic rhythm against his ribcage.

A nightmare. All a stupid fucking nightmare.

But he can still taste that bitter tang of demon blood, a substance that had tainted his veins and body for thirty-two years. That had been a catalyst for one of the largest rifts ever to separate him and Dean. Sam wraps his arms around his knees, drawing them closer to his chest, and drops his head down so he can slip his right thumb inside his mouth, suckling on it, hoping it will eradicate that haunting bitter tang from his tongue. Its taste had not been something Sam had noticed during his addiction those two years before the Cage. When he had craved it on almost a daily basis. But he can never forget it now.

 _I’m safe. I’m safe in my bedroom in the bunker. Azazel doesn’t have me. Dean's here. Azazel can never have me. I’m safe._ _I’m free._ _I’m safe. Dean’s here. Azazel can’t have me. I’m safe. I’m free. Yellow-Eyes is dead. Dean’s here._ Sam’s breathing evens out with each thought of his brother. His heartbeat finally slowing to a reasonably normal pace. _Where_ is _Dean_? His big brother always has a sixth sense for knowing when Sam’s having a nightmare and is generally there when he wakes up.

But Dean isn’t here now.  

 _Geez, Sam, quit being a big baby. It was a nightmare, you’ve had hundreds of ‘em,_ Sam scolds himself because honestly, he’s a big boy now isn’t he? He doesn’t need his big brother to come running just because Sam’s had a nightmare. He doesn’t need Dean to soothe his fears. Dean’s already had to put up with him having had some minor freak-out earlier. His brother doesn’t need to be any more worried about him than he probably already is thanks to Sam’s little collapse out on the green.

A breeze rustles over him, the sounds of leaves catching in his ears. Wait, huh? That can’t be right. They don’t have plants in the bunker, not even for decoration. Dean doesn’t like them. And they certainly wouldn’t be blowing in a breeze because the bunker doesn’t have wind running through its hallways and rooms either. The hairs on Sam’s bare arms stand on end as another breeze washes over him. He snaps open his eyes, releasing his body from its curled position and pushes himself upright, his eyes widening with confusion as he spies nothing but tall trees all around him. Its daylight, what he can see of the sky through the tops of the trees is overcast, no sun to offer him a vague time of day.

_Oh shit. Dean’s gonna kill me._

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean throws glances out the driver-side window, the windshield, the passenger-side window as he drives, hoping to catch any kind of glimpse of his missing Sasquatch. He’s been searching for two hours with no sign and he’s going to have to head for a gas stop shortly, the tank almost running on empty. Cas has had about as much luck as Dean on the other side of town, meaning zero luck.

If not for Cas, the idea of Sam sleepwalking never would have entered Dean’s mind. Sammy had gone through a phase of sleepwalking shortly after finding out about the supernatural. The night-time wanderings had started sporadically. And after a few nights of watching his brother wander around the motel room they were occupying at the time in a daze, his eyes open but glazed over, it had taken Dean making a desperate call to Bobby to figure out what the hell was going on. Because Dean’s thoughts had immediately jumped to a supernatural bastard attacking his brother; sleepwalking had never crossed his mind then just as it hadn’t this time.

Thankfully Bobby had just finished up a hunt relatively close by – though after finding out Dean and Sam were alone again for the third time in as many weeks, Dean was pretty sure the grizzled hunter would have dropped everything anyway no matter how far away he was. Bobby had arrived on their motel room doorstep five hours later…

_Dean scoops Sammy up as the knock comes on the door. The three-two-one-three knock code belonging to only Uncle Bobby. Situating his too-small-for-his-age baby brother on his hip and securing him there with one arm, Sammy buries his face in Dean’s neck in his usual shyness as Dean crosses to the door. He picks up the shotgun leaning against the wall next to the door and cocks it. He knocks a one-three-two code against the back of the door. It’s returned with the same three-two-one-three code of only a moment before. Sliding the chain across, Dean cracks open the door, relief flooding his system at the familiar sight of Uncle Bobby._

_“Hey sport,” Bobby smiles down at him as Dean widens the door to accommodate Bobby’s entrance._

_Sammy snaps his head up from Dean’s neck the second he hears Uncle Bobby’s voice, his shyness evaporated. “Unca B’by!” Sammy squeals from around his pacifier, squirming in Dean’s hold with his arms outstretched to Bobby, fingers making grabby motions. Dean snorts, uncocks the shotgun and sets it on the table before shifting his kid from his hip to hold him out to Bobby, who’s more than happy to take Sammy, the bearded face split wide into a grin._

_“Hey there, squirt,” Bobby jiggles Sammy in his arms, causing the kid to giggle as the old hunter steps fully into the room, allowing Dean to close the motel door behind him._

_“Thanks for coming, Uncle Bobby,” Dean replies, his relief no doubt visible to the old hunter, no matter how much he tries to hold it back. “You good with him for a minute, while I get his bedtime milk warmed up?”_

_“Yeah, boy, I got him,” Bobby responds. “I’ll get him in his jammies,” he adds tickling Sammy’s stomach and making the kid squeal once again around his pacifier._

_Dean snickers as he always does whenever he hears Bobby say ‘jammies’. It’s hilarious. Bobby reaches out, ruffling Dean’s hair as he passes._

_“Gerroff, Uncle Bobby,” Dean complains, ducking out from beneath the hand, but there’s a grin on his face as he makes his way over to the stove, hearing Bobby’s chuckle and Sammy’s giggle from behind him. Grabbing the milk from the motel fridge, Dean pours it into a saucepan, smiling as he listens to Sammy babbling enthusiastically to Bobby behind him, and Bobby's infrequent responses when Sammy actually lets him get a word in. Dean is always grateful that Bobby doesn't interrupt or tell Sammy to stop nattering, because Sammy so rarely opens his mouth to talk to anyone outside of Dean and it does the kid good. Even if it can be annoying at times._

_Within the hour, Sammy’s had his bedtime milk and is down for the count, curled into Dean’s side. Dean has relearnt recently that when Sammy sleeps, Dean should sleep too, because there’s no telling when Sam might be up._

_Eyes snapping open from sleep to the feel of his little brother squirming out of his arms several hours later, Dean lets him go, quietly watching Sammy slide down over the edge of the bed, his little legs kicking behind him before touching ground a moment later. Sitting up and getting out of bed as well, Dean slowly and quietly makes his way around Sammy and over to where Uncle Bobby is occupying one of the chairs at the kitchenette table, the experienced hunter’s eyes fixed on Sammy. Dean’s kid is wandering around, his eyes glazed over, pacifier between his lips, soft toy pup Binx tucked under one arm, and Sammy’s bam-bam (blanket) is gripped in his other hand and trailing behind the kid. Dean sets himself down on the other chair, watching Sammy and knowing to quietly leave Bobby to figure out what the hell’s going on._

_Bobby shoots Dean a reassuring half-grin ten minutes later, patting Dean’s closest knee. “Your brother’s alright, Dean. He’s sleepwalking,” Bobby tells him quietly, eyes fixed back on Sam now sitting on the floor playing with the toys Dean had managed to persuade John to keep because they’re valuable in teaching Sammy._

_And while that is true, they **are** mostly educational toys, there are also a few like Dean’s old green army men, his cars and Lego, and the airplane that are purely recreational. But once John found out Sam was aware of the supernatural the eldest Winchester had wanted the toys gone, along with the books, comics and drawing stuff Sammy also loves. The man wanting to wipe out that portion of a little boy’s childhood so he can use the space in the trunk the toy bag usually occupies for more fucking weapons and ammo. Only when Dean had promised to keep them in the backseat and not the trunk did John relent, because Dean refused to have his little boy turned into a fucking soldier at eight-years-old, especially when Sammy is still so fucking young and no more the size of a four-year-old. _

_“Sleepwalking?” Dean questions sharply, though keeping his voice at the same level as Bobby had spoken as not to disturb Sammy, his tone both curious and concerned. Because whilst he had heard about sleepwalking, Dean has never seen anyone doing so and he’s concerned for Sammy’s safety and the impact this sleepwalking will have on his kid in the long run. “What do I do?”_

_“‘Fraid there’s not much you can do, Dean, aside from making sure all windows and doors are locked before you both sleep.” Bobby turns his gaze to Dean, gaze intense. “And that he can’t get hold of any weapons.” Dean bristles, feeling insulted that Bobby could even think Dean would let Sammy touch a weapon in his waking hours, let alone in his sleep. Bobby holds up a hand before Dean can open his mouth. “Now, you know I don’t mean naught by that, boy,” Bobby continues, “but Sam isn’t consciously aware of his actions when he’s sleepwalking. He could easily pick up a gun thinking it just a toy and shoot himself… or you.”_

_Dean deflates, scrubbing a hand over his hair. Sammy knows he mustn’t touch the guns when he’s awake, but sleeping… Bobby’s right. But Dean also knows he’s meant to keep the shotgun on hand at night. Fuck. “Okay. Weapons away. Windows and doors locked. I should also hide the keys away before I sleep then.” Because Sammy is too intelligent for his own good sometimes…_  

Bobby had remained with them until John had shown up two days later. Dean and Sammy had stayed in the motel room whilst Bobby undoubtedly hauled John over the coals once they reached a good enough distance from the room, and Dean’s ears, because Dean unashamedly would have listened in for sure if he could have. Not that it changed his father’s stubborn nature and attitude, only made him furious with Bobby. Dean and Sam didn’t see Bobby for a good couple months after that.

Dean slams on the brakes, tyres squealing as he glances briefly in the rear-view mirror, before throwing the Impala into reverse. Twisting in his seat to look behind him, he reverses the car back up the narrow lane, turning the wheel to take him over to a gravel turnout, a wide gate covering the entrance leading up to a red barn. Cutting the engine, Dean throws open his door and jumps out, approaching the guy he had seen fixing his fence in passing and which had caused Dean to stop. The mid-sixties looking guy looks up at him, setting the top of his hammer on the beam of wood he’d previously been banging a nail into.

“Hey, have you seen a guy come past here at all? He’s about yea high,” Dean lifts an arm over his head to indicate Sammy’s height, “girly hair, wearing only grey sweats and a white t-shirt,” Dean hides his grimace at that, knowing Sammy must be freezing his ass off wherever he is, “probably looking like a lost puppy." 

The guy shakes his head, eyes quickly looking Dean up and down before flickering over to the Impala and back. “Haven’t seen no-one come by all day, son,” the guy responds, his voice booming. “He yours? This missing boy.”

“Little brother. His names Sam.” Dean digs out his wallet and flips it open, pulling out a business card. He holds it out to the guy who accepts it. “It’s got my cell number on it. Please, if you see or hear anything of Sam, call me. Name’s Dean.”

The guy arch’s a bushy grey eyebrow and nods. “Will do, Dean.”      

“Thanks.” Dean nods, crossing back to the Impala. Getting in, he switches on the engine and takes off to continue his search. He doubts he’ll ever hear from the guy, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to ask the first person he’s seen in the area if Sammy has crossed their path recently. It’s one of the problems with living in the vicinity of such small towns.

Dean slows as he reaches the woods edging the area of the property he’s just paid a visit to, peering out his window and trying to see through the dense trees. He hits his palm against the steering wheel suddenly, before hitting the gas.

_Dammit, Sammy. Where the fuck are you?_

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam moves to push himself to his feet only to topple straight back onto his butt. His legs feel weak and shaky beneath him when he tries to apply weight to them. Scratch that, all of him feels that way. As if he’s been completely drained of energy. But how had he gotten here in the woods? The last thing Sam remembers is being in the bathroom with Dean after his shower. Had he fallen asleep? He had a vague recollection of Dean telling him to stay upright or something but after that… who knows? Maybe he fell asleep; maybe they went on a hunt he now has no memory of. Maybe he has a head injury. Sam lifts his hands to his head, feeling along his forehead, his temples, his scalp, and down his neck, fingers moving with fast but meticulous movements of muscle memory. He'd checked for head injuries too many times in his life. Both his own and Dean's. This time he felt no injury so he could scratch off head injury. There’s no blood … 

Sam freezes, a horrifying scenario crossing his mind. _Oh God._ What if the nightmare wasn’t a nightmare? What if it’s real? What if some demon had grabbed him. Fed him their blood. What if there was demon blood in him again? Sam hurriedly felt around his mouth, feeling no wet and sticky liquid or dried and crusty residue on his skin. But he can’t be sure. Sam does the only thing he can think of. He jams his fingers down his throat, his gag reflex kicking in and he spews nothing but bile onto the ground. Leaning closer, rubbing a hand over his tummy that’s now sore from the force of his retching, he inspects the small puddle with a grimace. He can’t see any red splotches, but he also doesn’t know how long he’s been out here for. The blood could have already been absorbed into his system.  

 _No._ Sam buries his head in his hands, fingers clutching at his hair. _No no no no no no._ It can’t have happened again. It just can’t! Not when he’s only just been freed from that nightmare. Is he going to be cursed with demon blood until the day he dies because of his past mistakes? Is demon blood his ultimate punishment? Sam sniffles, lowering his hands down from his hair, scrubbing them over his face and wiping away the residue of his tears.

Sam shoves himself upwards, regardless of the shakiness in his legs and catches himself on a tree before he can topple back down to the ground. He has no idea if any of that is true, whether the demon blood is there and until he does have some semblance of idea he’s not going to dwell on it. He can’t, otherwise he’ll fall apart. And he can’t afford to do that. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for himself and find a way out of here. Wherever here is. Looking around, he realises he’s actually in a small clearing, a few tree stumps scattered around and what looks to be eastern cottonwood trees all around him. Now that he can relatively stand on his own two feet with just the mild assistance of the tree, he takes stock. He’s got no wallet, no keys, no weapons, no socks, no shoes and no _phone_. At least he can be thankful he has his sweats and a t-shirt on even if he is shivering with cold. He rubs his hands up and down his arms and curls his toes under him to save some warmth.  

Now he has to figure out what to do. He’s in the woods without knowing which way will bring him to some sort of civilisation. He doesn't know how large the woods are in any given direction. He could pick a direction and chance walking but he could be going in entirely the wrong direction for hours, or days. And he doesn't have any provisions for days; no food, no water.

And what if Dean is out here somewhere too. Hurt and alone? Or with Cas, both of them hurt. Does Sam chance calling for them? What if Sam hadn’t been caught by demons but he, his brother and Cas had been hunting something and it's still out there? Sam has no weapons. He can run, dodge and fight for a while but without a necessary weapon or even knowing what kind of weapon he'd need for a probable monster, he wouldn't hold out very long without back up. Preferably in the shape of Dean and Cas. A huff of frustrated breath leaves him. Too many questions. Too many options. He should just pick a direction and go. He isn't getting anywhere just standing here like a moron.

But what if he moves and Dean can't find him?

Brushing his hair out of his face, Sam realises he doesn't have much choice here. He pushes off from the tree and takes a moment to centre himself on his feet. He quickly realises his feet are sore, possibly cut. Had he walked a long way? Crap. Could he have sleepwalked? He hasn't done that in years. Not since he was around nine or ten, starting shortly after finding out about the supernatural and Santa not being real. It had continued, off and on, for around two years before it had just stopped. Could the sleepwalking have returned? Sam doesn’t know and he isn’t going to get any frigging answers to his many questions until he gets his butt out of these god damn woods.

He starts walking straight ahead, doing his best to ignore the stinging over the soles of his feet. He’s had much worse. Moving through the far more condensed trees than had been in the clearing, he weaves his way around them, leaning against one or two here and there to steady his shaking legs. Sam comes to an abrupt stop after what has to be only five minutes of walking and hides himself behind one of the wider trees. He peers round the tree briefly and cautiously and wants to smack his forehead against the bark.

Because of course there's a fairy-tale cottage sitting oh-so innocently with smoke curling up from its chimney right in the middle of the freaking woods.

_How silly of you not to have expected this, Sam. Damn. Damn. Damn._

Now what does he do? Civilisation may very well be sitting right in front of him. Does he chance approaching and finding out that a very exceptionally boring and normal person or person’s live within (and never ever tell his brother he did that). Or does he approach and pray he can fight whatever supernatural fugly lives within the innocent looking cottage before it decides to kill him? Dean would bust his butt for either option. So that leaves option number three; turning on his heel, walking in the opposite direction and risk getting further lost in the process.

That is, he’ll follow option three _after_ he’s had a look in the window. Hunter, remember. The most innocuous of things is usually relevant information for later.

Sam moves sideways silently, using the trees for cover as he circles around to the small window on the front left-side of the cottage. Ducking down, he crawls his way across until he can get a look in the window without being seen from within. There _is_ someone inside and from the long chestnut pleated hair it’s a woman. She turns, he shifts back slightly. From the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes she looks to be around Cas’ human age, early to mid-forties, fair skin, not overly pretty. She could genuinely be a normal person, but experience has taught Sam that most normal people don’t shut themselves away in the middle of the woods. And with his abrupt awakening in these very woods, something isn’t adding up. Not wanting to chance being caught, Sam crawls his way backwards until he can stand again.

Then he runs in the opposite direction.    

Sam finally slows his running to a jog and then a walk when he thinks he’s a good enough distance away from the cottage. He drops down onto a fallen tree trunk, keeping his back to a wide standing tree so that he can catch his breath and rub his feet. They ache. They’re filthy too and he can’t tell if they have cuts on them amongst the dirt and grime. But he doesn’t need to see any cuts to know his brother will shove Sam’s feet in a bowl filled with their horrible antiseptic liquid-soap. Sam hates that stuff. It stings like crazy against the smallest of cuts.

Sam only allows himself a minute for his breather before he pushes up again and sets off, his throat dry with thirst. How long has he been going for? It has to be nearing an hour, maybe two. He’s only taken two steps when the heavens open. _Oh for the love of …_ Sam’s drenched and shivering within minutes, his arms wrapped around himself as he trudges on.

With his head angled downwards to shield his eyes from the sting of the biting rain a good while later, it takes Sam a moment to realise his surroundings have changed. There are no trees before him or to the side, only behind him. He’s stepped into a field of green short-cut grass, wet beneath his feet. He can see a white and blue farmhouse a little way in the distance, and his deportment straightens a little as he cheers inwardly.  

 _Finally_. _Maybe they’ll have a phone._

Carrying on forwards in as straight a line as he can go, Sam does his best not to slip and slide across the wet grass on his bare feet. He isn’t successful. And as he lands on his butt for the third time, sliding down a small incline before coming to a stop, he contemplates whether he should just slide his way across the wet grass on his tummy. At least then he wouldn’t have to think on when the next fall’s coming, and which spot of his body can say hello to a new bruise. But he knows he can’t do that, so he slowly pushes himself back to his feet, his body now beyond weary.

And as Sam closes in on the farmhouse, he realises it’s one of those with the wrap-around porches. A fairly large house with three floors, white slatted-wood walls and a coral-blue roof. The kind of place Sam as a child had always dreamed he and Dean could live, that idyllic normality, though not on as large a scale as this. He’s since grown up to realise the house doesn’t make the home.

“Son, what are you doing out in this weather dressed like that?”

The booming voice makes Sam jump, and he curses himself for his inattention. He blinks wide eyes up at the porch. A fairly tall man stands at the top of five steps that lead down from the porch and join with the paved path at which Sam now stands at the end of. The man’s weathered face and salt and pepper hair places him in the mid to late sixties range but he could be older or younger. The guy’s belly sticks out with a beer gut, but thick arms look to hold a decent amount of muscle in them still.

“You trying to catch your death, son? C’mon up here outta the rain.” The man gestures Sam up onto the porch. Sam hesitates, wary of approaching a stranger when he still has no clue what’s happened to him. “Ain’t gonna hurt you, son. C’mon now.”

Knowing he doesn’t really have much of a choice and hoping the man is a decent guy who keeps to his word, Sam slowly moves forward, setting his foot on the first step and then the next and the next until he’s covered all five and stands on the white-painted wooden porch. The man had backed away as Sam ascended the steps, allowing for Sam not to feel threatened, for which Sam’s grateful for. He rubs his hands up and down his arms.

“Better yet, c’mon inside,” the old man says, “I’ll have Ally make you up a warm drink.” Sam’s eyebrow arch’s in question at the name. “My wife,” the old man states, pulling open the screen-door and holding it open for Sam to enter the house, the inner door already standing open. “I’m Earl Grey.”

Sam finds a tired smile creasing his lips as he stands on the welcome rug. He doesn’t want to move any further into the wide hall because of his wet feet as they have shiny wooden flooring. “Like the tea?”

Earl chuckles, coming in behind him and letting the screen door close. “Yeah, like that shitty tea. ‘Scuse me French, son.”

“S’kay,” Sam says and has to stop himself from jumping once again as the man suddenly booms out his wife’s name right next to Sam’s ear. “I’ve heard worse from my brother. I’m Sam.”

Earl does a double take and raises an eyebrow as he looks Sam up and down. “Well now, ain’t that funny. You do look a little like a lost pup.”

“Huh?” Sam questions a little suspicious now and takes a step backwards. _Why’s this complete stranger all of a sudden think I look like a lost pup?_ _Where the hell could that assumption have come from?_

“Easy, son. Not gonna hurt you, remember?” Earl holds up his hands in front of him. “But I had a flying visit from a man asking after his missing little brother by the name of Sam just about two hours ago now when I was out back fixing up my fence.” Sam’s hopes rise. It had to have been Dean or Cas; more likely Dean by what the man had said. If his brother and Cas were looking for him they would have separated to cover more ground. “And you do fit his description,” Earl continues, “‘about yea high, girly hair, probably look like a lost puppy.’” Sam felt his cheeks heat lightly; definitely Dean. Earl chuckles. “Course he didn’t say nout ‘bout a drowned lost pup.”

“Was he in a big black muscle car?” Sam questions, extremely hopeful, even though he has no doubts it’s Dean. He would’ve said Impala but he’s unsure whether Earl would recognise the name. Impala’s aren’t all that popular and he doesn’t want to insult the man.

“That’d be ‘bout right, son. That your brother? Said his name was Dean.”

“Yes sir,” Sam nodded frantically, before realising his hair is throwing off droplets and quickly stops.

“Ally!” Earl booms again but this time Sam manages to keep from flinching or jumping at the loud sound.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming you impatient old fool.” Sam’s head snaps around in the direction of the voice. A woman standing at around 5'4 with grey and brown striped hair is bustling down the wide hall from what Sam thinks is the kitchen. She’s wiping her hands on her apron that’s coated in flour. “Oh my goodness,” she stops walking as she spots Sam, briefly looks him up and down, before offering a warm smile. “What on earth has happened to you, dear?”

“Um, I think I might’ve been sleepwalking,” Sam feels his cheeks burn lightly. Even if it turns out not to be true, it is still embarrassing standing here in front of a pair of stranger’s in nothing but his pj’s. Even if they seem nice enough.

“Well, let’s get a warm drink into you. Earl, fetch a blanket.”

“Yes ma’am,” Earl tips an invisible hat to his wife, and disappears into a room off to the side.

Ally shakes her head with a muttered “honestly,” but Sam can see the smile on her lips. She grasps Sam’s elbow, leading him through the way she had come. It is a pretty large kitchen as Sam had suspected, large enough for both an island with breakfast bar and a dining table. Ally sits him down on one of the chairs at the table.

“You must have been walking quite a long ways, dear,” she says squatting down and looking at his feet. Sam instinctively curls his toes under. “None of that, now,” she chides gently upon seeing the movement, staring up at him with blue eyes. “I won’t hurt you, dear. But they’re definitely bleeding.”

“Oh, I’m sorry… your floors,” Sam apologises quickly, looking over to the way he had walked. He notices the red patches.

She waves away his worries. “These floors have survived five rambunctious boys running across them with numerous injuries over the years, dear. A little extra’s not gonna hurt.” She smiles up at him. “Now let’s put these in some fresh water, clean the rest of the dirt away.”

“Were you in the woods, son?” Earl questions as he enters, holding a forest-green blanket which he hands off to Ally before moving across to the stove and lighting a burner beneath a kettle.

“Yes sir. I woke up there.”  

The couple’s faces suddenly turn grave, spiking Sam’s hunter nature even more. Are this couple only nice to people they are about to kill? Or are they just genuinely nice people?

“You shouldn’t wander in those woods, dear.” Sam feels the shudder run through Ally’s hands as she places the blanket over his shoulders.

Grasping the corners, he curls it around himself, and lets it warm him. “Why?”  

“There’s been a couple of recent deaths come out of those woods, son,” Earl tells him. “Seems they came out of there, collapsed and just up and died of exhaustion.” Earl eyes him with scrutiny. Sam sits up a little straighter; the same exhaustion he’d felt out there in the woods? The same exhaustion running though him right now? “Never heard the likes of young people up and dying of exhaustion without any reasoning though.”

 _Shit_. “They were young? How young?”

“One no older than fourteen,” Earl shakes his head, “‘Nother early twenties, and one late twenties. I know the Sheriff, son, and he likes to talk after a few beers.” Earl smirks lightly as he seats himself on a chair opposite Sam at the table.

Sam rearranges his face. He’d obviously been staring in confusion for Earl to state his source. He had been wondering how Earl had come by the information – if he isn’t the one doing it of course. Sam looks at Ally as she approaches with a dark green plastic bowl, puffs of steam rising from it, and sets it on the ground at his feet. Sam reaches down and rolls his sweats up enough so they won’t get any wetter than they already are. He then slips his feet into the water, grimacing as the water immediately announces the presence of many cuts. But within seconds the pain ebbs away and Sam’s able to sigh softly at the warmth spreading through his toes.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, offering a smile to Ally.

“You’re welcome, dear,” she pats his hand and bustles over to the stove as the kettle whistles.

“Here,” Earl leans over to the island and grabs up a wireless landline receiver and holds it out to Sam. “You best call your brother.” Sam gratefully accepts the phone. “Way he looked earlier, I’m sure he’s goin’ outta his mind with worry. You got his number memorised? He gave me it …”  

Sam smiles tiredly, “Dean would kill me if I didn’t have his number memorised.”

Earl nods with a light chuckle. “Fair enough.”

Sam presses his brother’s main cell number into the keypad before setting the landline to his ear. It’s picked up on the other end after only one ring.

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice sounds worried and Sam feels guilty for being the reason that emotion’s presence is there again.

“Dean.”

“ _Sammy? Dammit, kid_.” Sam hears Dean breathe a sigh of relief as well as the squeal of the Impala’s tyres as Dean undoubtedly slams his foot on the brakes. “ _Where the hell are you?_ ”

Sam’s happy to hear the gruffness back in that tone, though he blinks at the question. He still has no idea. Glancing at Earl, he opens his mouth to ask when the man beats him to it, reeling off the address, having clearly heard Dean on the other end. Sam repeats the information to his brother, surprised to find out he’s about fifteen miles outside of Ebson, which is eleven miles north-east of Lebanon.

 _“Yeah, I know the place. Stopped by there earlier actually. I’m on my way. You keep your butt right where it is, ya hear me, Sammy?_ NO _wandering off.”_

“Yes sir.”

_“Good boy. You hurt anywhere?”_

“Just a few scrapes on my feet, I think. Mrs Grey’s had me put them in some water.”

 **“ _Who?_ ”** Dean’s voice is sharp.

 _Shit._ “The lady that lives here,” Sam is quick to appease. “You spoke to her husband, Mr Grey, earlier, Dean.” 

“ _Right. I’ll be there shortly, Sammy._ ”

Sam can hear the Impala’s engine roar through the phone as Dean presses his foot to the accelerator, speeding up just before the call disconnects. Sam makes sure he presses the button to disconnect the call on his end before setting the receiver on the table and thanking the Grey’s once again. Ally smiles as she sets a mug of steaming yellowish liquid in front of Sam and another in the space to the left of Sam in front of the spare seat. A yawn overtakes Sam suddenly and he’s quick to cover his mouth with his hand before scrubbing at his eyes with his fists.

“Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly.

“I’m sure you’ve had a tiring time of it, son,” Earl says, waving off Sam’s apology.

 _Huh, you have no idea_ , Sam thinks.  

“Hope you like chamomile and honey, Sam,” Ally says.

“I’ve never actually tasted that combination,” Sam admits, “but I usually like teas, so I’m sure it’ll be great. Thank you.”

Ally smiles as she sets a large mug of coffee in front of her husband before taking the spare seat, wrapping her hands around her own cup and sipping at the brew. “Go on now, Sam, drink up while it’s still hot. You must be freezing. And if it’s not to your taste you just speak up now, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” Sam takes the mug into his hands, sniffing the liquid, a little wary of it being something he should absolutely not be drinking. But it smells good and he takes a tentative sip. The warmth is soothing on his dry throat and it tastes good. He takes a larger sip, smiles and nods at Ally. “So, has anything like that ever happened with the woods before?” he questions by way of making conversation, it is only polite. And he wants to know.

“Not that I’m honestly aware of, son,” replies Earl. “And the missus and I have lived here coming up on forty years now.”

So the couple should be more than familiar with the area, unless they keep solely to themselves, but Sam doubts they do. In this kind of area most people are pretty friendly and they are only small towns. Hell, Lebanon only has around two hundred and twenty people living in it. Sam knows Dean likes that it’s such a small town – so does he, it’s the perfect place for them - but his brother also hates having to go so far just to get a full load of groceries, or a decent burger in the middle of the night when Dean can’t be bothered to cook one for himself.

“Then do you know the woman living in the cottage out in the woods?” Sam queries with hunter’s ease and practise.

“That old place?” Ally says. “Been empty for years, dear. At least a few decades.”

Sam narrows his eyes fractionally in suspicion as he sees Ally glance at her husband who shrugs one shoulder imperceptibly in return as he carries on sipping at his coffee. If no one is living in the woods, who’s the woman out there? And why haven’t the Grey’s seen the smoke from the cottage’s chimney wafting up from the trees. Sam’s pretty sure the smoke would be visible from this house.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean swings the Impala onto the gravel driveway of the ordinary looking farmhouse. He really hopes this couple aren’t your friendly neighbourhood sociopaths who are currently in the process of trying to murder his baby brother, or do God knows what else to Sammy. Because then Dean would have to gut them for touching his kid, and all he wants to do is get Sammy home. So they better hope they turn out to be the nice people Sammy’s voice suggested they were over the phone. But then, when it comes to normal everyday folk, Sammy’s not as suspicious of them as Dean is.

Dean really hadn't taken much notice of the guy he'd spoken to at the house earlier, only that he was older, mid to late sixties and had a loud booming voice when he spoke. Dean had been more interested in giving out Sammy's description and his cell number in case the guy saw Sam wandering around than getting a read from him. And then he'd hit the road again, leaving the big old farmhouse in his rear view mirror. It had barely been an encounter that lasted a minute and he'd never expected to be going back. But he was definitely now more than thankful he'd stopped. Might make for a little less awkward conversation with the couple for Sammy, especially if Sam has no clue what’s happened. Dean can’t remember if he told the old guy his suspicions of Sammy sleepwalking.

Dean shuts off the engine and jumps out, checking his favoured ivory-handled .45 calibre colt pistol is tucked away neatly in his back waistband whilst closing his door. Just in case it is needed. Crossing to the end of a paved path he makes his way up it and ascends the steps onto the porch. He draws to a stop in front of a closed screen door, the interior door already wide open. The old man, Mr Grey as Sammy had said, is already walking up the wide hall, gesturing with his hand for Dean to enter his home. An invitation Dean accepts, pulling the screen door open, and sparing the briefest of moments to wipe his boots on the welcome rug before he’s walking down the hall to grasp the old guy’s outstretched hand.

“Dean wasn’t it? I’m Earl Grey.”

Dean nods, shaking the firm grip once before letting go. “Where’s Sam?” he asks briskly. He isn’t here for the niceties, though he is grateful this couple had pulled Sammy in out of the rain.

Earl obviously realises Dean is in no mood for the niceties as well, because he gives a half grin, and gestures behind him. “Just through here, son.”  

Dean's immediate response is to snap at the man that he isn't his son, but he stops himself. All he’s interested in is seeing Sammy. And he does so as he enters what’s clearly the kitchen a moment later. Sammy’s seated at the kitchen table, his bare feet in a bowl of murky water. A smile breaks across his kid’s tired face at the sight of Dean, something that stirs a warmth in Dean’s chest. He smiles in return, crossing over to ruffle Sam’s wet hair. He’s momentarily surprised when Sam slips his arms around his waist and lays that wet head against his chest, but Dean simply returns the hug without pause.

“You’re all right, buddy,” he says quietly, reassuringly rubbing his hand over Sammy’s back in soothing circles.

“I think I got lost,” Sammy mumbles against him.

Dean snorts softly, “Yeah, I think you did.” Dean turns his head, remembering that he does have manners buried somewhere inside of him and brings them to the fore, introducing himself to the woman seated at the table with Sammy. Obviously Mrs Grey.

“Ally,” she responds, shaking his outstretched hand once he’s removed it from Sammy’s back.

Dean nods and turns his attention back to his kid’s trembling form, he can feel those light shivers against him, despite what the Grey’s have done to warm the kid through. Only a hot shower will really warm the kid up. Pulling back, Sammy goes reluctantly and is clearly blushing lightly as he realises what he was doing in front of complete strangers. Dean gives him a reassuring smile as he re-tightens the blanket around Sammy’s shoulders. Squatting down in front of Sam, Dean set his hands on the kid’s knees, knowing the contact will help soothe the small cloud of fear he can see in Sam’s eyes. Dean, however, freezes when he hears Earl’s voice behind him.

“That a colt pistol, son?”

Dean knows in that second that his shirt has risen in the back revealing his gun. But he stares up into Sam’s eyes, reading all too clearly that his brother hasn’t spoken a word about Dean carrying a weapon, just as he knows Sammy wouldn’t have. Kid knows how much trouble that would bring him.

“Yeah,” Dean finally responds succinctly, turning enough to arch an eyebrow at Earl. “We gonna have a problem about that, Earl?” Dean quickly takes in the way Earl’s casually leaning a hand on his wife’s chair, while his wife calmly sips away at the drink she has in her cup.

“Course not, son. Got me a _Winchester_ , myself.” There’s something in the way Earl places specific emphasis on their surname that clues Dean in very quickly that the man isn’t referring to the brand of firearm.

Dean can feel Sammy’s legs tense underneath his hands. He gives the knees a gentle squeeze, before he stands to face the couple, his body shielding Sam behind him and shooting both Earl and Ally a not-so friendly smile. “That meant to be hinting at something, Earl?”

Earl barks a booming laugh. “I might‘ve been outta the game for a few years now, but I know hunters when I see ‘em, boys. Hell, if it weren’t for my old ticker I’d still be doing my bit where I could. Two of our boys,” he inclines his head towards Ally, “went down that route. And you two made a name for yourselves amongst hunting circles. Hell the FBI, if what we’ve heard over the years is right. And that car of yours, course.”

Dean frowns. He knows a couple of Grey’s that are hunters. Al and Pat. Good guys. Bobby had introduced Dean to them once when they were in South Dakota back when Sammy was at school. Dean and Bobby had shared a few drinks, stories and a couple games of pool with them. Pat had been cut down by a nasty spirit sometime later if he remembers correctly. And Al Grey is on Dean’s contact list. He’d spoken to the man not fourteen hours ago for a lead on Rowena.

“Pat and Al?” Dean questions. The Grey’s nod. “Pat was a good man,” Dean continues sincerely. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He holds his hand out to Earl, who takes it, shakes it a little firmer, maybe with solidarity.

“As was Bobby Singer,” Earl returns with a small incline of his head as he and Dean release their hands. “I know through the grapevine you boys were close with him.”

Dean nods, once again squatting down in front of his baby brother whose forehead is creased in confusion.

“You guys know each other?” Sammy asks quietly obviously realising the Grey’s have lost someone close to them through the hunting life.

“Not personally, Sammy. Bobby and I knew two of their sons. Good guys. Spoke to Al couple hours back actually,” Dean admits, glancing over his shoulder again.

“Said he’s on a vampire nest with a couple other hunters last we heard from him a couple days back now,” Ally says. “We try to keep an ear out for anything strange around the area and pass it on,” she continues. “Like what’s going on in the woods out back.”

“So you _do_ know someone’s out there,” Sammy’s voice holds a hint of accusation and Dean’s eyebrow rises in question, watching the Grey’s nod to Sam.

“We know, Sam,” Ally tells the kid, her voice calm.

“And we don’t go about giving out information to just no one, son,” says Earl. “Needed to be sure you boys really are the Winchester’s our Al’s spoken highly of.”

“Just seeing a colt pistol does that?” Sam grumbles, now sounding mildly irritated.

Dean shoots him a look, before asking, “What’s out in the woods?”  

“Your boy there was until he stumbled on us,” Earl says.

Dean turns sharply to his brother. “That true, Sammy? That where you were? In the woods?”

Sam nods. “I woke up in there. Did wander into a cottage out there, right in the middle I think. Real fairy-tale like. There’s a woman living inside.”

“Did she see you?” Dean questions severely.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam says, “I strolled right on up to the door and asked her if she’s an evil supernatural creature who likes to lure unsuspecting people into the woods.”

Dean scowls at the kid, "Not appreciating the snark, Sam."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Of course she didn't see me, Dean. I'm not an idiot."

“It is more than we’ve known ‘bout the past few weeks though,” Earl speaks up. “We’ve seen the smoke so we know someone’s out there. Al says he’ll get back here to check it out as soon as he can, but he can’t bail on the hunt he’s already on.”

Dean and Sam both nod. They understand that all too well. There’s just too many hunts and hunters spread too thin.

“If there _is_ something out there and it thinks it’s getting its claws into my baby brother it’s got another thing coming,” Dean growls. “Tell Al we’re taking it if you get hold of him.”

“That’d be a big weight off Al’s shoulders, dear,” Ally says relieved.

“Mr and Mrs Grey say there’s been deaths, Dean,” Sam informs him as Dean pulls one of the kid’s feet out of the bowl, grimacing lightly at the numerous cuts he sees there. “It’s got to be connected. I just don’t know how I factor in. If it _is_ to do with whatever’s out there.”

“Be a pretty big coincidence if it isn’t,” Dean responds, setting Sammy’s foot back in the bowl and pulls out the other, taking note of the much larger gash on the underside. “This might sting, Sammy,” he warns before setting the foot on his raised knee so he can gently ease the skin open. Blood trickles out, but despite being long it isn’t deep enough to require stitches. “You’re in luck, kiddo, no stitches.”

“Good.”

“You do, however, have a date with the antiseptic soap when we get home, buddy.” Sammy winces at the news before his bottom lip pulls down into a pout. Dean shakes his head, “Not taking any chances of these getting infected, Sammy. Ally’s done a great job of getting them cleaned up for us, and I thank you for it, ma’am,” Dean shoots a smile at the woman over his shoulder.

She smiles, “I’ve had plenty of practise patching injuries over the years, Dean.”

Yeah, Dean bet she had. He knew Al and Pat had at least two or three younger brothers. He remembers joking around with the pair about dealing with just having the one brother - that he’d obviously been aware of at the time, but then he never knew Adam either way. And even if he had gotten to know Adam, Sammy still would’ve always been Dean’s priority, which wouldn’t have been fair to Adam. At least he knew Adam wasn’t suffering in the cage – Tessa had informed Dean of that little detail after his failed reaper attempt to get Sammy’s soul back. Death had been fucking with Dean when asking who Dean wanted to retrieve; Adam’s soul had been released from his body the moment Cas molotov’d Michael’s ass in Stoll Cemetery. Adam was never dragged down to the Cage like Sammy. Something that obviously hadn’t made it into their fucking life history, cos those girls who put on that school play thought Adam was still down in the pit. Maybe Death had wanted to see if Dean would sacrifice one brother over the other. But like he said, he never would have chosen Adam over his kid. No matter how much of a fucked up bastard that made him.    

“You walked a long way, Sammy,” Dean comments quietly to bring his mind back from dangerous territory. He tries not to think of that time too much.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sammy chuckles lightly before scrubbing at his eyes. “Got drenched too.”

“Bet ya did. Think you can walk okay, Sammy?” Dean queries, knowing Sam wouldn’t want to be carried out to the car in front of the Grey’s, but Dean will still do so if Sammy can’t put weight on his feet right now. “It’s time we get you home and into a hot shower.”

“I’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam tells him, pulling his feet out of the bowl. Dean accepts the hand-towel Ally drapes over his shoulder and carefully pats Sam’s feet dry before binding them in the white bandages already set on the table.

“You boys have an email?” Earl questions. Sam nods, giving out the address they use specifically for other hunters and Earl records it on a notepad. “I’ll forward you all the information I’ve managed to round up from the Sheriff about the deaths. See what you make of it.”

“Thanks,” Sammy offers a tired smile. “That’ll be a big help in getting this done quickly. Hopefully before I wander off again.”

Dean straightens up and leans his butt back against the table, starting to untie his boots so he can take his socks off for Sammy to put on.

“Goodness, here. You keep them on, Dean. I’ll fetch Sam a pair of our Gavin’s old house slippers. He has the biggest feet of any of our boys’ so they should fit Sam.”

“Oh no, we couldn’t impose any more than we already have, Mrs Grey,” Sam says, looking up at her from behind his eyelashes. Dean tries not to sigh, because now Ally definitely isn’t going to let either Dean or Sam refuse the house slippers under that look, not that Sammy’s doing it intentionally. Kid just doesn’t know how lethal that look is.

“Oh shush your nonsense now, sweetheart,” Ally shakes a finger at Sam, who looks mildly startled, causing Dean to chuckle lightly. “It’s no trouble now. I won’t be a moment,” and with that she’s out the room.

Dean shrugs as Sam raises his wide eyes to him. He hears Earl chuckling, it isn’t difficult to miss his loud voice. Sam pulls the blanket from around his shoulders, folding it up and laying it on the table. Ally returns a moment later with a large pair of dark-blue checked house slippers. She hands them over to Dean, who peruses them quickly, making sure they won’t be too tight on Sam’s feet. He actually thinks they might be a little too big, but they definitely have cushioning inside. It’ll ease some of the rubbing against Sammy’s cuts. Hauling Sam’s left foot up he slips the slipper on, making sure to be careful, but Sam shows no signs of discomfort. Dean’s proven correct in his assumption of them being too big, but only by a fraction. He puts the other one on Sam’s right foot, the kid grimacing only ever so slightly as this one has the larger cut.

“There,” Dean pats the kid’s ankle before holding out his hand to pull Sam to his feet. Sam rises with a stiff posture, stretching his back out and lifting his legs up one at a time. Dean frowns. “You sore?”

“A little. Feel more fatigued than anything.”  

“You’ll want to keep a close eye on him, Dean,” Earl spoke up. “Them people who died after being in those woods dropped dead of ‘exhaustion’, if you get my meaning. Bodies just shut down.”

Dean frowns as they move out into the hall where he slips Sam’s right arm over his shoulders, and set his own left arm around Sam’s waist. He gets a good grip in case he needs to lift Sam up that way without noticeably carrying him. “Huh. Sounds like a Shtriga.”

“Shtriga’s go after kids,” Sam observes. “But it’s plausible it’s an offshoot. A sister or cousin maybe.”

Dean nods. They can’t get down to the exact fugly until they get home. And he needs to get the full story out of his kid before anything else so that they have those facts available to them.

“Thanks again.” Dean shakes both Earl and Ally’s hands. “You’ve got my number still?” Earl pats the breast pocket of his shirt. “Call if you need anything, we owe you one.”

“And we’ll let you know how it goes,” Sam says.

“That’ll be good. You boys take care of yourselves now.”

They say goodbye to the Grey’s on the porch and Dean applies a little more pressure to Sam’s waist to keep the kid upright as they near the Impala. Sam is definitely wavering with fatigue, much like he had after his collapse. And maybe that’s connected to all of this rather than the spell like he and Cas have been thinking. Dean would be more than happy for it to be because of whatever fugly has targeted Sammy this time, because at least then they’d be able to sort it out with little difficulty. His and Cas' theory… that’ll take time. Time they might not have if it is accurate.

“Front or you wanna lay out on the backseat?”

“Front,” Sammy’s quick to answer.

Unlocking the car, Dean helps Sammy into the front seat before going to the trunk and retrieving the blanket always kept in there. Shaking it out, he throws it over Sam’s shoulders and Sam draws it tighter against his shivering body. Dean shuts the door and rounds the car to the driver’s side and climbs in. Firing up the engine, he pulls off the drive and heads them in the direction for home.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asks shifting himself to rest against the door.

“You can’t go to sleep, Sammy. At least until we know what this thing is, if it is anything.”

“I know. Just trying to get comfortable. So where’s Cas?”            

“He was searching the other side of Lebanon, while I took this side. I told him to get back to the bunker after you called me. Said we’d meet him there. You remember what happened, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs one shoulder. “The last thing I can clearly remember before waking up in the woods is being in the bathroom, having my shower. Then I woke up.”

“And nothing happened in between?”

Sam is slow to respond. “I was having a nightmare,” he admits quietly.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam stands gingerly on his injured feet as he rushes through his shower. As much as he would like to remain underneath the hot spray, savouring its warmth, he doesn’t think Dean will maintain his patience for much longer. Because after his initial announcement in the car about having had a nightmare, Sam had found it excruciatingly difficult just to keep his eyes open on the drive back to the bunker from the Grey’s place. And much to Dean’s annoyance it had cut any further conversation on the subject of Sam’s nightmare short because Dean had been forced to turn his music to blaring just to keep Sam awake, something Sam had actually appreciated for once.

Sam is still contemplating whether or not he should actually bring up the details of his nightmare. But he also knows he needs to at least lay one of his - at present - most leading fears to rest. He needs to know what happened to him out there and only then will he know for definite if his nightmare was just that. Or whether he had actually been snatched by demons and fed their blood. And he desperately wants the reassurance of Dean and Cas telling him it hadn’t happened.

Shutting off the shower, he snakes his hand out of the curtain and grabs his towel, rubbing it over his body before wrapping it around his waist. Throwing open the curtain he isn’t surprised to see Dean leaning with his back against the small wall jutting out from behind the main bathroom door, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms crossed over his chest. His head is bent forwards and his eyes closed but Sam knows his brother isn’t sleeping, just resting his eyes. A flash of guilt passes through him at how tired his big brother looks and Sam doesn’t think Dean will be getting much sleep in the near future, at least until they can deal with whatever it is that’s decided to target Sam this time. Sam sighs inwardly, resigning himself to being babysat incessantly for however long Dean deems it necessary. It’s going to chafe, on all of them. They’re all used to having a little alone time, especially now they have the space of the bunker. At least Dean and Cas can switch off babysitting duties with each other.

Hopefully they’ll get this done quickly.

Dean had called Cas from the car after leaving the Grey’s, asking the former-angel to start researching Shtriga-like creatures and anything else relevant that might feed off a human’s energy, and that could cause the exhaustion in Sam and those who it had killed. Cas had surprised Sam by enveloping him in a tight hug the minute he’d stepped down from the bunker’s main staircase onto the crow’s nest floor upon their return. It had taken Sam a moment to respond as the last hug they’d shared Sam had had to practically coach Cas through it. But the warmth of Cas’ body heat had seeped into Sam’s still chilled body and he had quickly returned the hug. Until Dean had brought up the need to get Sam’s feet into the icky antiseptic liquid-soap. That had not been fun.

“You good to get yourself dressed, Sammy?” Dean questions without raising his head or opening his eyes, but he does point to the fresh pile of clothing sitting on the bench nearest to him.  

Sam grabs a smaller towel and scrubs it briskly over his hair, before dropping it in the laundry basket. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replies picking up the t-shirt from the top of the pile and donning it, before dropping the towel from his waist and pulling on his boxer-briefs.

“Milk or cocoa?”

Sam smiles lightly at the random question – or at least it would be random to anyone else. “Coffee,” he inserts instead. Dean opens one eye to level a look at him, the eyebrow arching above it. “What?” Sam shrugs one shoulder. “If I need to stay awake until we figure out _if_ something’s after me, I’m gonna need something a little stronger than milk or cocoa, Dean,” Sam insists as he threads his belt into his jeans. “You know they _make_ me sleepy.”

Dean shakes his head with an insufferable sigh, pushing off from the wall and exits the bathroom leaving Sam giddily wondering if he won this round. A good dose of caffeine could be in his very near future. Pulling on his black and white plaid shirt as he exits the bathroom after Dean, he jogs to catch up with his brother.

 

#

 

Sam yawns for the millionth time in the past fifteen minutes, before he once again nibbles at the corner of a cracker as he prints out the information from Earl’s email. He can feel Dean’s narrowed eyes on him as his brother grabs the printouts straight off the printer, and knows it’s because he’s only got through half a cracker since the plate full was placed in front of him. But his tummy just can’t handle it right now. Not with the way it’s churning with dread at both the thought of rehashing his nightmare to Dean and Cas; and the fear that they in turn won’t be able to reassure him it wasn’t real. He watches Dean set the printouts on the table in three separate piles correlating to each of the three victims. Cas has actually made good work of whittling down potential creatures responsible, leaving them with a handful of books to go over. Along with Sam’s printouts from Earl and whatever else he can drum up from the internet.  

“Looks like it’s pretty much as Earl said,” Dean speaks up after a few minutes of reading over the printouts. “The three victims all died of exhaustion, and the idiot coroner’s ruled them all as natural causes. Though it’s good for us, means no law enforcement involvement.”  

Sam snorts with disgust, “You’d think someone would have investigated after figuring out they all died after coming out of the same woods.”

“Probably only get ‘em killed, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. Too many law enforcement get killed for investigating ‘crimes’ committed by the supernatural, but as annoying as it can be to have the local cops investigating on a supernatural case at least their doing something _to_ investigate. The victims deserve that.

Sam turns his eyes to Cas, now feeling the man’s blue eyes on him. Sam arch’s an eyebrow in turn. Dean sits forward in his seat, setting the printouts aside, and too turns his eyes to Sam. Sam sighs again, knowing what both men are asking of him. He starts talking, recounting how he woke up in the woods, ran across the cottage and then got out of there after peering in the cottage window. How the woman had looked normal enough. Which is the problem with most of the supernatural – they look human and most can blend in to human society efficiently. At least until something kicks them off and they prove otherwise. Sam finishes with reaching the Grey’s farm.

Dean stares at him. “The nightmare, Sammy.”

Sam had still been contemplating not telling them anything about that, but the minute he opens his mouth to say it was nothing, it spills out of him before he can stop himself, or before the thought again crosses his mind of wanting to stop it spilling forth.

Dean and Cas are silent when he finishes. He can’t stop himself from slipping his thumb in his mouth, suckling on it as he waits for one or both to respond. To say something. To give him the reassurance he needs. Dean stands, crossing around the table and pulls Sam’s chair out from the table so Dean can squat down in front of him, obviously recognising that clear need in Sam, much to Sam’s chagrin. He wishes he wasn’t such an open book of emotions.

“Sounds like it was just a nightmare, Sammy. Definitely a shitty one, yeah. But… Azazel _is_ gone, Sammy. He’s never coming back,” Dean assures. “You don’t have demon blood in you any longer, okay, that’s all done and over with, you get me? Just a nightmare.”

Sam’s slips his thumb from his mouth. “But we don’t really know that, do we?” he says quietly. “Demons could’ve got whatever this thing is to take me …” Sam trails off as Dean grabs his face in between his hands.

“Sam, you _do not_ have demon blood any longer,” Dean states firmly. “No bastard demon has been anywhere near you, you understand?”

Sam’s not sure he agrees, but he nods anyway. “Yes, Dean.”

“Good boy.” Dean’s draws his hands from Sam’s face and sets them on his knees instead. “Now, we’re gonna find whatever this thing is and put it down, right?” Sam nods again, because that he does agree with. “And when we do, you’ll actually believe me.” Sam drops his gaze to his lap. “Hey, it’s alright, kiddo. I know it’s difficult to believe something like that couldn’t have been real. Hell knows our nightmares are a little more realistic than other people’s. We’ve had to live through most of ‘em.” Sam frowns, the words sparking some memory in his mind before it snaps away again. “What is it, Sammy?”

Sam rubs his temples, trying to force the information to the surface of his brain. Unfortunately without knowing what the information his memory is trying to spark actually is, forcing it is pretty useless. He groans in frustration. “Something’s niggling at the back of my mind about all this I just can’t quite… grasp.”

“Something you remember?” Cas questions. “Or might have read recently?”

Sam frown intensifies. He shakes his head. “I feel like I’ve read something about nightmares combined with exhaustion and-and-and… life-essence…”

“Life-essence. That’s what a Shtriga feeds off right?” Dean questions, straightening up and glancing between Sam and Cas. “That spirit… thingy.”

“ _Spiritus vitae_ ,” Sam and Cas chorus, and it triggers Sam’s memory.

“That’s it!” he cries, turning his chair back straight in front of his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard, quickly finding what he’s looking for. “I knew I’d read something. But it was years ago when I was looking up what a Shtriga was during that case in Fitchburg, Wisconsin. You remember, Dean?”

Dean nods, because hell yeah he remembers. It’s a little hard to forget, even after all these years. That bastard Shtriga had fed off his baby brother for the second time. Dean can still remember the sound of his scared little boy’s voice from the first time, when Dean had royally screwed up.

"D’dy, what's goin’ on?" Sam isn't talking to John, not even looking at him.

Sammy's talking to nine-year-old Dean, silently asking why John – an almost stranger to Sammy - is the one holding him and not Dean, who's stood frozen with fear at the foot of the bed, numerous scenarios racing through his head as to what could have happened to Sammy because of the Shtriga. He'd left Sammy alone and defenceless to go play a fucking video game - he'd deserved John's belt that night when Sammy was once again sleeping in Pastor Jim’s guest room, and after John had returned without killing the Shtriga. Pastor Jim had stopped the licking halfway through though. The man had been furious with John for leaving Dean and Sam to begin with when he had the knowledge a Shtriga was on the prowl, stating the blame didn't solely lay with Dean. And if Dean was receiving a licking for his part, Pastor Jim would call Bobby to come dish out a licking to John too. Dean doesn’t know if that actually happened, but he does know Bobby had turned up on Pastor Jim’s doorstep a day later.

Dean can admit now that he wasn’t solely at fault, even if he couldn't back then, or even when they faced the thing in Wisconsin. It hadn't been all on his shoulders. John shouldn't have left them; Dean shouldn't have left the room. It was both their faults that Sammy could have been killed that night.

“Dean?”

The sound of Cas’ voice snaps him away from the memory and he blinks. He nods, silently indicating he’s fine, before looking to Sammy, who is watching him with concern. “Well?” Dean snaps, deflecting away the concern.

Sam blinks, clearing his throat as he quickly returns his attention to his laptop screen rather than staring at his brother. “Err… there _are_ several sister and cousin offshoots of a Shtriga. One of which is this.” Sam swings his laptop around so both Cas and Dean can read it.

“An Obilyaya?” Dean’s eyebrows rise. “Who the hell comes up with the names for these frigging creatures?” he snarks.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Just read it, Dean.”

Dean reads over Cas’ shoulder as his partner draws the laptop nearer and not for the first time recently does Dean wonder if the former-angel needs glasses. Maybe a trip to an optometrist is required once they’ve dealt with all this shit, Sammy is definitely due for a check-up. Dean growls with frustration at the length of the document he’s staring at.

“Cliff notes version, Sam,” he snaps.

“Okay, so basically an Obilaya seeks out prey by the strength of a victims nightmares, then draws in the youngest member of a household first if the nightmares of those within are all strong. And… because it seeks prey through nightmares alone, the wards around the bunker don’t keep it from sensing us.”

“That’s why she’s targeted you,” Cas states. “We’re all experiencing nightmares at the moment.”

“That’s what I figured,” Sam says. It was unusual for one of them not to suffer a nightmare during sleep.

“It know who it’s targeted?” Dean questions.

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t think it has any idea we’re hunters, unless it can actually physically read our nightmares rather than just sensing them. That would definitely give it a clue. But the lore doesn’t mention an Obilaya having that kind of ability.”

“How do we kill it?” Dean asks the most important question.  

"Much like the Shtriga it doesn’t state any vulnerabilities in the lore, but we know consecrated wrought-iron rounds kill a Shtriga,” Sam states. “Do you think it could be the same deal as a Shtriga if they’re part of the same family?”

“Could be. And if it is the case then it’ll be vulnerable when it feeds. Which means we take the consecrated wrought-iron rounds as well as the silver just in case we’re wrong.”

Sam bites his lower lip knowing Dean is trying to work out a way of getting this Obilaya to feed on Dean without Sam having to be near it again. But Sam already knows it won’t work. Just as Dean had known back during the Shtriga incident that one of them hiding under the covers rather than Michael wouldn’t work to get the Shtriga to feed.

“Dean, it has to be me,” Sam says quietly.

“No,” Dean immediately replies. “We’re getting this thing before it draws you out in zombie mode again.”

“That won’t work, Dean,” Cas speaks up, drawing Dean’s ire to him. Cas points to the laptop screen he’d still been reading whilst listening and adding to the discussion. “It states here that an Obilaya doesn’t turn its sights to another victim until it’s fully consumed the one it’s already feeding from. It takes six feeds before an Obilaya completely drains its victim’s life-force.”

“So you’re saying we don’t have a choice. It _has_ to be Sammy?”

Cas nods apologetically.

Dean rubs his hands over his face. “Okay.” Dean sets his palms on the table, leaning forward close to Sam. “But me and Cas will be following behind you every step of the way. Once this thing starts feeding we’ll waste it, you hear?”

Long-ingrained instinct has Sam wanting to point out that he's more than capable of looking after himself. It's on the tip of his tongue in fact. Before he remembers that in this instance, he's exposed to the Obilaya’s… thrall… for lack of a better term. It will use his nightmares to draw Sam in and bring Sam to its lair without Sam being aware of his actions, not even when he wakes up again. That makes him defenceless. And after the way he felt earlier after his collapse, so vulnerable and unable to control his own frigging emotions, he hates this Obilaya for putting him in this position and making him feel that way again so shortly after feeling it before.

So Sam nods to his brother. He watches Dean leave the library with a frown before turning to Cas, who is watching Dean leave with a frown of his own. Cas gives Sam a shrug. They’ve been working silently for a few minutes trying to find any other weaknesses the Obilaya may have when Dean returns.

Sam arch’s an eyebrow at his brother as Dean holds a half-filled shot glass out to him, the thick brown slush within less than appealing. But he can smell the espresso and is surprised Dean’s actually offering it to him.

“This is a one-time offer, Sammy, and it’s about to go down the drain,” Dean wiggles the shot glass at him. “As soon as the Obilaya is down, you’re back to being caffeine free.”  

Sam sighs unhappily at the news, but readily accepts the shot, bringing it to his lips and throwing it back, swallowing it down in one. “Jesus, Dean,” Sam wheezes through a cough. “Did you actually put any water in that?” he coughs again, grimacing at the strong taste of coffee lingering at the back of his throat.

Sam grabs his water and chugs back several mouthfuls. He may like a good caffeine hit but it doesn’t mean he actually _likes_ the taste of coffee; it’s why he almost always has it flavoured rather than going with Dean’s straight black coffee. It had only been when he was in college that Sam had started chugging back coffee to get him through what had seemed like an insurmountable amount of work in his freshman year. The habit had followed him through the rest of his college years and beyond. Until his brother decided otherwise.

“Sure. Couple drops,” Dean responds with an unapologetic shrug, taking the shot glass away from Sam and setting it down on the shelf with the whiskey decanter. “That should keep you going for a couple more hours.”

And then they would _need_ Sam to go to sleep for the plan to work.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean silently follows after his little brother as the kid weaves his way effortlessly through the trees in the darkened woods skirting the Grey’s property several hours later, despite the glazed-over state of Sammy’s eyes as the Obilaya draws the kid to its lair. He had followed Sammy all the way from the bunker on foot while Cas rolled some distance behind in the Impala and only joining them on foot when they reached the woods. Dean had momentarily contemplated not bringing the Impala. They could easily knock on the Grey’s door and hit the old couple up for a ride back once they’re done with the hunt but Dean doesn’t want even other hunters – or former hunters - knowing they’re location in Lebanon. Not all hunters are friendly to the Winchesters and for a price those who aren’t would probably sell Dean, Sammy and Cas out to the highest bidder. Then Dean would be fucking pissed. So he had vetoed that idea.

Cas moves just as silently beside Dean, Sammy’s backpack slung over his back, both straps sitting on Cas’ shoulders. It had been the most logical bag for the weapons and ammo they didn’t have sitting in their waistbands or jackets, as well as the first aid kit and water. It frees up both Dean and Cas’ hands, of which one of Dean’s is already occupied by his colt pistol. Cas has his angel blade tucked up his sleeve, figuring if the bullets they have do nothing to kill the Obilaya the blade is worth a shot.

Dean’s skin is crawling. No matter how many times Sam has been bait in the past it still goes against every fibre of Dean’s being to send his kid into an unknown situation. Because they may know what this thing is, this Obilaya, but they have no idea what they’ll be walking into out here. Or what kind of things it could do to Sammy before it feeds. Or what it already did to Dean’s kid whilst Sammy was in its clutches the previous night. And it’s those unknown variables that Dean hates.

Dean throws out an arm to stop Cas’ from taking his next step as he sees light up ahead. They quickly take cover behind two trees, ensuring they can still see Sammy’s movements as the kid continues on towards the cottage. And it really is a fucking fairy-tale looking cottage just like Sammy said. Seriously. Whoever decides to build these kind of lone places in the middle of the fucking woods is just asking for some fugly to swoop in and take over the place, probably killing the owner in the process. Dean’s fist curls as he watches Sammy duck under the cottages open doorway, the door closing ominously behind his brother.

Dean glances to Cas, gesturing with his hand for them both to slowly make their way nearer. They cannot see the inside of the cottage from their current vantage points and that’s what they need to be able to see. Creeping slowly forwards, using the trees as cover, they reach the cottage, each taking a side. Dean ducks down at the side and slowly crawls his way underneath the window to be able to see within. A snarl wants to rip its way from his throat as he sees Sammy laid out on what looks like a dental chair, the ugly-ass Obilaya sucking out his little boy’s life force. Dean curls his fingers into his palm, digging his fingernails in to curb his need to throw himself through the window at the Obilaya and get it away from Sammy.

A strong hand grips Dean’s arm, and he snaps his gaze quickly to Cas who has joined him under the window. The grip steadies him, brings his anger under control, and Dean’s able to slowly and carefully reach up and test the window above their heads. He feels it give slightly in the frame. Hoping it won’t make a noise as it opens, Dean pushes on it. It opens and Dean snatches his hand back. He nods to Cas, the both of them rising slowly, guns cocked and aimed on the Obilaya. Dean has a clean shot of the things head, and he can automatically tell Cas does as well from his angle.

Dean gives the nod and they fire in unison, both bullets impacting the Obilaya in the head. It slumps sideways with an eerie screech and Sammy slumps down in the chair. Dean and Cas are already up and through the door, clearing the small cottage in a matter of seconds just in case another Obilaya lies in wait. It’s all clear. Cas moves to Sam’s side, tapping the kid’s pale cheek whilst Dean stands above the Obilaya. And just as he did all those years ago with the Shtriga, Dean fires multiple rounds into the bitch, making sure the thing won't be coming after Sammy or anyone else again.

Sammy screams himself awake, choking on a shuddering breath. Cas is quick to reassure him he’s safe even as Dean hurries to his kid’s side. Sammy’s pupils are blown wide with fear and Dean has no doubts his kid just awoke from the same nightmare as before. Dean really hopes the nightmare isn't going to stay with his kid, but the Winchester luck will most likely see Sammy suffering through it for a while yet.

“You’re okay, Sammy. Was just a nightmare. There’s no demons here,” Dean reassures, roughly brushing back damp hair from Sam’s forehead. “Just one ganked Obilaya,” he points down at the corpse on the ground as he unconsciously continues to brush a hand over Sammy’s hair.

“Obilaya?” Sam blinks dazedly before his eyes slowly follow the direction Dean’s finger is pointing. “Right, Obilaya. Err…” Sammy blinks again, his eyes beginning to clear as he looks around their surroundings. “… Where the hell are we?”

“The cottage in the woods you told us about,” Cas responds.

“And you’re welcome,” Dean quips.

Sammy groans. “Can I sleep for a week?” He asks, curling himself up in the chair and sticking his thumb in his mouth. He’s asleep in seconds.

“Great,” Dean sighs with false aggravation. “He could’ve at least stayed awake long enough to walk his damn butt back outta these woods.”    

Cas smiles at him lightly. “I think you've proven you're quite capable of carrying him, Dean.”

“Really not the point, Cas,” Dean points a finger at his partner which earns him a chuckle out of the other man.

“Then what is your point?” his former-angel questions.

Well… Dean doesn’t really have one. They both know full well Dean would willingly carry Sammy out of here even if the kid was actually awake right now. "You know what, Cas, shut up.”

Cas snorts, grasping the front of Dean’s jacket in one hand and pulls him forward, meeting Dean’s lips with his own. Dean quickly deepens the kiss, a release now that his kid is no longer in imminent danger, before he remembers that they’re kissing over Sammy’s sleeping form and he draws away. He places one last kiss to Cas’ lips before stepping back. Cas grips his hand, not letting him go far.

“You know what we have to do when he wakes.” 

And there goes Dean’s momentary relief at getting Sammy out of danger running its way out into the woods as the fear and apprehension rolls back in. Because, yeah, he knows the conversation that’s coming when Sammy wakes and Dean is not looking forward to it. He sighs, but nods to Cas. Cas nods in return, gives Dean’s hand a tight squeeze before releasing his hold.

Dean clears his throat. “All right. Stay with Sammy while I deep-fry this things ass extra crispy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was a completely lame second half and ending for the chapter :(
> 
> But what do you think? Sammy seemed to want to disappear, and I tried to tell him we have other parts of the story to get on with, but he just wouldn't listen :) Sorry for the sucky name for the creature, I'm absolute crap at coming up with things that haven't been on the show.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a resounding thank you to all who have left comments, kudos and have bookmarked this story. You guys are awesome!! You feed me fuel and inspire me to continue to write this. Keep it up, please :D
> 
> I'm really sorry I didn't respond to the chapter 6 comments. I've been super busy unfortunately, but I did read them and thank you all for leaving them. 
> 
> And sorry for the wait again guys. I don't even know where July went! Hope you like this one.

“ _Missed me, Sammy?_ ”

Sam yells, shooting upright, Azazel’s laughter once again echoing in his ears. He snaps open wide terrified eyes, hands clutching at the sheets surrounding him, bunched and tangled in his legs and trapping him within there hold. He desperately kicks at them to free himself, shoving at the sheets with his hands. A startled cry releases from him as he tilts sideways, hitting hard floor with a thud a second later. The jolt awakens him to the realisation of where he is and the memory of the last time he awoke from this nightmare.

He quickly tracks his gaze around his bedroom, ensuring he is definitely in the bunker this time, and not the woods or that cottage where he vaguely remembers his brother pointing out the dead Obilaya. And with the realisation that he’s safe, Sam slumps to the side, his body hitting the edge of his bed as he strives to bring his breathing under control. Disappointment floods his system. He had really been hoping that his nightmare was all down to the Obilaya and once it was taken care of the nightmare would leave him the hell alone, but he had obviously hoped wrong. And now he once again has the taste of that bitter tang on his tongue. And once again his brother isn’t here…

 _God Sam, quit needing Dean every five fucking seconds! You’re a grown man! Act like it!_ Sam scolds himself before snorting harshly. Because who is he trying to kid? He needs Dean; needs the comfort just being in his big brother’s presence offers. That will be enough. He doesn’t need to mention he’s had a bad dream again like some four-year-old running to daddy.

After running a hand through his hair, Sam’s about to push himself to standing when he notices the white bandages encompassing both of his feet. He is swiftly reminded that he must have traversed a good thirty to thirty-five miles on bare feet thanks to that fucking Obilaya and the terrain had not been gentle on his skin. He draws up one bandaged foot after another, happy to note there are no red splotches on the white fabric; meaning he couldn’t have injured them further during his second Obilaya-induced zombie walk. That is unless Dean changed the bandages while Sam was sleeping. Though Sam doubts it. He’d had enough protection on his feet to prevent further injury. Dean had insisted on it. His brother making him put on two pairs of socks beneath his boots before Sam had fallen asleep last night. A normal pair and a much thicker pair to form insulation against any rubbing that walking that far in his boots could have caused his injuries. Sam contemplates removing the bandages, but he knows they will provide him with some padding when he walks so he leaves them on for now.

Shifting onto his hands and knees, Sam crawls his way the few feet to his bureau and uses the five-drawer cabinet to pull himself to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him. He holds onto the bureau to steady himself momentarily before crossing to his door. It stands slightly ajar and as Sam pulls it fully open, the sound of the squeaky hinges echoes loudly in the silence. Slipping out into the low-lit hallway, Sam’s thankful Dean hasn’t left him to wake to pitch-black darkness. Sam isn’t exactly sure when his old fear of the dark crept back in, or when Dean realised it had, but it’s infuriatingly annoying. Yet, Sam can’t stop himself from all but hyperventilating when he finds himself in that kind of darkness without a light source readily available.  

He glances down at his watch; 11:37 AM. Though of what day that time refers to Sam’s not even sure. He hadn’t taken any time to look at the date or day when they were researching the Obilaya, but he had a feeling a little over a day has passed since his collapse out on the green.

Making a pit stop in the bathroom, he uses the toilet before splashing his face with cool water. He repeats the action twice more before wetting a washcloth and placing it at the back of his neck, allowing the cold cloth to ease some of the tension there. Pulling it away after a minute, he grabs a towel off the rail on the wall beside the counter housing the three sinks and dabs it over his much cooler skin. Glancing in the mirror, he runs his hands through his bed-hair, straightening it out a little and lessening the impact of it looking like a birds nest. Taking note of his eyes, he’s grateful they don’t look bloodshot or bruised beneath. Sam really doesn’t need Dean ‘suggesting’ an even earlier bedtime than he already has. Quickly brushing his teeth, he pays particular attention to cleaning his tongue and trying not to gag; he wants that remembered bitter tang of demon blood gone.

After leaving the bathroom, Sam checks Dean’s bedroom first and finds it empty. He checks the knocked-through room that will eventually become their living room whenever it gets finished. He checks the library and only finds books strewn over the tables that he knows weren’t there earlier. He checks the crow’s nest. All come up empty. Sam’s pretty sure Dean and Cas are in the building. The bunker doesn’t have that empty feel to it; that feeling when you just know you are alone. Maybe one or the other has ventured out, but not both. Dean would’ve left a note where Sam could easily find it if both were leaving the bunker.

Scrubbing at his eyes, Sam crosses under the archway joining the crow’s nest to what they’ve termed the kitchen hallway (even though it does lead elsewhere). Reaching the kitchen entryway a moment later, Sam freezes under the square archway, shock seeping through his body and heat rising in his cheeks. This is certainly the last thing he’s expecting to see at the end of his search for Dean. And yep, he’s found Dean. He just definitely wasn’t expecting to be greeted with a partial view of his brother’s naked butt! Nor Cas atop their new breakfast bar, the former angel’s bare legs wrapped tightly around Dean’s back; the fingers of Cas’ left hand curling around the base of Dean’s neck, squeezing the skin there with each swift forward thrust of Dean’s hips.

Snapping out of his shock as Dean lets out a deep groan, Sam hurriedly places a hand over his eyes, swiftly but quietly backing away from the kitchen and leaving the couple to it. Especially before Cas can open his eyes and see Sam standing there like a wide-eyed idiot. Reaching his bedroom, Sam closes the door and slams his hand against his light switch, light illuminating the room; the after-effects of his nightmare now long gone. He starts to pace the floor space with a flurry of questions running through his mind, while at the same time trying to scrub away the image he has just become an unwitting witness to.

God, how long have Dean and Cas been having sex? Sam doubts this is a first time, or a one-time thing, not with how comfortable the pair looked with each other. Sam shudders, he doesn’t want to remember that part – or any part of Dean and Cas’ sex life – thank you very much.

Dean would be so pissed with himself if he knew Sam had seen the pair. The last time Sam had seen Dean having sex was when Sam had walked in on his brother getting it on with twin females back when Dean was crossing off his bucket list before the deal came due. And as much as Dean had brushed it all off as a natural act, Sam knew Dean hated Sam seeing him having sex. It was a big no-no in Dean’s mind, having ‘innocent’ baby brother witness him in that kind of position. 

Sam snorts. He had never ever wanted to see his big brother having sex either, but unfortunately Dean sometimes forgot to close doors back when he was in his early twenties and too drunk to remember such things.

Because despite having Dean as a big brother, Sam had been a very late bloomer in the sex department; physically coming into puberty at a much later age than his peers. He had been just shy of sixteen when Dean realised his little brother knew nothing about sex after Sam had come home from school and innocently asked “what’s a blowjob” in the middle of dinner.

Sam smiles softly as he thinks about the talk Dean had given him; perhaps one of the most disgustingly embarrassing moments of his life, but looking back he realises Dean had had _the_ perfect opportunity to tease the hell out of him at his total lack of knowledge on the subject. Instead Dean had explained things calmly and educationally without once making fun of him, even a year and a half later when Sam had finally hit puberty. But even at seventeen Sam had still been of the mind-set that he was never having sex with anyone. Ever. Dean had smiled indulgently and ruffled his hair, telling Sam the old adage that he would feel differently when he was older. He _had_ felt differently four years later. Jess had been his first.

Sam sighs as he drops down onto the edge of his unmade bed, scrubbing knuckles against his eyes. How is he meant to face his brother and Cas without the familiar embarrassment creeping in now that he knows what they’re doing? Sam jumps at the sound of a knock on his door. _Crap, do I wanna answer that?_ He blinks as a second later the door opens without his giving consent anyway, revealing a fully-clothed Dean _. Thank god._

Dean steps inside Sam’s room, closing the door behind him with a click of the latch, before leaning back against the wood and crossing his arms over his chest. Sam drops his gaze to his lap, sensing the intense green gaze surveying him. He starts to squirm, feeling as if he’s in trouble and wondering if Dean knows what Sam witnessed only minutes earlier. He hears Dean sigh softly before the sound of his brother’s boots scuffing the floor draws closer; then the bed is dipping beside him as Dean sits down.

“So you know,” Dean says matter-of-factly.

 _God, how many embarrassing situations can I get myself into? First puking all over myself and crying all over Dean’s shoulder, then getting lost in the freaking woods and now this. Life is not being fair to me right now,_ Sam thinks, his cheeks heating again as he raises his head to look at his brother. “W-what?” he stutters.

“Cas saw you bolting away from the kitchen, Sammy,” his brother states, as far from embarrassed as you can get.

Sam sometimes hates the fact that Dean can always take sex in stride and doesn’t show any signs of outward embarrassment, even after getting caught by his little brother. Though Sam isn’t the only one who’s ever caught Dean having sex. Sam knows for a fact that Bobby, Caleb, Joshua, John and even Pastor Jim had all caught Dean, and Dean’s always been able to just laugh it off. Though Pastor Jim had certainly had a thing or two to say about it.

“I didn’t know you were in …” Sam starts only to stop as Dean holds up a hand.

“It’s not your fault, Sammy. It’s mine and Cas’. We shouldn’t’ve been having sex where you could easily walk in on us when you woke up. We weren’t thinking, kiddo.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda clear, Dean,” Sam shoots back but he gives Dean a quick smile to show he isn’t necessarily angry about it. Confused, yes, but not angry.

Dean snorts. “Do we really need to talk about this, Sammy?” He questions looking far from wanting to do so. Sam arch’s an eyebrow, wondering if the recent sex has addled his brother’s brain. Because of course they need to talk about it! Things are going to be completely awkward for Sam if they don’t. “Right, forgot who I was talking to there for a sec,” Dean snorts again, “Of course you wanna talk about it.” Dean shakes his head and sighs. “Well c’mon, Sammy, hit me with it.”

Sam figures he’ll voice the most prominent question he wants an answer to. “How long?”

He can feel Dean shift beside him before responding. “Off and on since Purgatory.”

Sam’s next breath draws in quickly and he looks sharply at his brother. “Purgatory? _Four_ years.” He shoots to his feet. _Now_ there is anger coursing through his veins. “You’ve been with Cas for _four_ fucking years and you haven’t told me?!”

“Hey!” Dean cuts in firmly, jaw set. “Watch your mouth, Sam. I know you’re pissed at me but that doesn’t give you a free pass to start cussing.”

“Yeah? Well fuck you, Dean!”

“Stop cussing. Now. Because I am not gonna give you another warning, Samuel,” Dean’s voice is a low growl.

Sam snorts harshly, beyond caring and too far gone into pissed off territory to realise the words already sprouting from his mouth are going to force his brother into acting on that veiled threat. “You’re such a hypocritical fucking cunt, Dean!!”

Dean is on his feet in an instant, long strides eating up the distance separating him from Sam. Sam jumps a hurried step back away from Dean, immediately hitting the wall behind him and all-too-quickly snapping out of his own anger in the face of the blazing green-fire bearing down on him. The words Sam has just spoken are practically vibrating off the walls as they roll through Sam’s mind, becoming louder and clearer; taunting him with the sudden knowledge that he has made a huge mistake in throwing them at his big brother. His chest tightens and his stomach rolls, just the way they always do when guilt starts to creep in. He’s done wrong. He knows it. But he’s still unable to just stand there and face the punishment Dean’s going to dish out and Sam is quickly moving to the side to try and get to his closed door. He wants out, away from his advancing big brother who Sam has no doubts is about to whoop him for cussing so strongly.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam is aiming for strong and calm, but he can hear his voice wobbling. “I didn’t mean …”

Unfortunately, Dean is already on him and Sam’s attempt to stop his brother with his words is futile. His upper left arm is grasped and he’s pulled away from the wall and hauled up into Dean’s arms, his butt being sat on his brother’s hip just as it had been hours earlier. He squirms and struggles against the grip, feeling heat flare across his cheeks yet again. And he’s surprised when, rather than carrying him to his bed, Dean opens Sam’s bedroom door and carry’s Sam out into the hall instead.

_Oh god, Dean’s not taking me to be spanked in front of Cas, is he? Dean wouldn’t do that to me, would he? That would be beyond mortifying right now._

But just as soon as Sam thinks that the realisation strikes as to where Dean’s footsteps are actually leading, and what Dean intends to do when they get there. Sam renews his struggles only to feel his brother’s hand crash down on his bottom a second later, causing Sam to yelp at the sting.

“Settle down, Samuel, or you’ll be receiving a prelude to the spanking you’re getting after we’re done with this part of your punishment.”

Sam stills at the warning, sitting in his brother’s arm, bottom lip unconsciously jutting out and his body tense as they draw closer to his doom. Entering the bathroom, Dean sits him down on the end of the counter housing the sinks, before grasping his chin.

“You keep your butt planted right there, you hear me, little boy?" 

Sam swallows and nods. “Yes, Dean.”

Dean moves away across the room. Sam watches through his eyelashes as Dean yanks open the doors to their supply closet and rummages within, head practically disappearing inside. It’s only a moment later that Dean steps back from the closet and closes the doors again, a small white wrapped package in one hand. Sam bites his bottom lip as Dean crosses back to him, stripping away the wrapping from the familiar fresh bar of non-scented soap. Sam doesn’t need to guess what his brother intends to do with it. It’s been a good few years since Dean last felt the need to soap Sam’s mouth, but Sam hasn’t forgotten. And neither has Dean if his brother still keeps a fresh supply of the specific soap he uses to wash out Sam’s mouth. Sam makes a quick mental note to find every last bar in that closet and melt them.  

Sam cringes as Dean wets the soap under the water until suds form and then the evil thing is being held to Sam’s mouth. He keeps his lips clamped shut and shakes his head, feeling the tears already beginning to burn his eyes.

“Open,” Dean commands firmly. Sam stares back, using his eyes to plead with his big brother not to put that in his mouth. Dean sets his jaw. “ _Now_ , Samuel.”

The whimper passes Sam’s lips before he can stop it as he easily recognises the tone his brother is utilising. The one that tells him his brother is pissed right now and Sam should stop being a disobedient little boy and obey the command before his brother has to repeat himself again. It’s a part of Dean that Sam has never been able to ignore; something that used to piss off John Winchester because Sam could never bring himself to obey that man without falling into an argument. And knowing there is no way around the command unless he wants his brother to have to force his mouth open - something that will actually be hurting Dean more than it will Sam - Sam closes his eyes and opens his mouth. Sam wants it gone the second the wide and sudsy bar brushes his bottom lip and he has to stop himself from pulling away, or physically forcing Dean away from him.

“Close,” he hears Dean instruct and Sam reluctantly does so, the bar of soap being enclosed by his lips, the roof of his mouth and his tongue, as well as his teeth as they sink slightly into the bar. The suds start to fill his mouth as they join with his saliva and he tries his damn hardest to keep it from trickling down his throat. “Five minutes, Sam, then you’re done.”

Sam nods lightly, eyes still closed and head bowed, feeling a hot tear trail down his left cheek. He’s surprised when he feels the pad of a wide thumb brush across his cheek, swiping the tear away. He opens his eyes, staring through wet lashes at his brother still standing right in front of him. The anger Sam had only minutes ago witnessed in those green eyes is now cooled to a fire that leaves him without any doubts he’s still in for one hell of a spanking when they’re done here. But doing this now, soaping Sam’s mouth, is allowing for Dean to calm down enough that he can dish out the upcoming spanking without the anger Sam was silently fearing might cloud his big brother’s judgement. Because, admittedly, Sam had been a little scared when he saw his brother coming at him. It had reminded him of John those times he came at Sam with a belt. But he doesn’t fear his brother. He does know what a rash decision in anger can do, and cussing like that at his brother is a sure fire way to set Dean’s temper off. A temper that would see Dean spanking Sam before he realises he’s doing so in anger. A big no-no. But Dean’s cooler head had prevailed despite his anger at Sam and now here they are.

Sam silently observes Dean glance at his watch, the suds in his mouth starting to trickle down his chin. “One more minute, Sam,” Dean tells him, swiping a washcloth over Sam’s chin. Sam unconsciously shakes his head. “One minute,” Dean reiterates, this time with that hint of steel in his voice.

Sam whimpers and nods.

When the five minute mark is finally – _finally_ – up, Dean grasps the end of the soap protruding from Sam’s mouth. After a nod of consent from his brother, Sam happily unglues his teeth now stuck in the bar and Dean pulls it free, immediately placing it on the discarded wrapper. He crosses the room to dump both in the garbage can. _Good riddance_ , Sam thinks as he spits out the build-up from within his mouth into the sink beside him.

“Rinse your mouth,” Dean instructs as he makes his way back from the garbage can.

Sam quickly dives down, twisting himself around on the counter to get closer to the faucet. He cups water in his hand, feeding it to his mouth and rinsing thoroughly before spitting again. He repeats the process several more times until he feels Dean’s hand rest on his back and his brother tells him to stop.

“Can I brush my teeth, Dean?” Sam asks as his brother eases him back up straight.

“Sorry kiddo, you get to keep that taste as a reminder for a little while longer,” Dean tells him with just the barest hint of sympathy, his hands once again grasping Sam under the arms and pulling him off the counter onto Dean’s hip. Sam wants to protest that’s he more than capable of walking, but he keeps his mouth closed. He doesn’t want any further punishment than the spanking he knows he has coming.  

But Dean isn’t carrying him back to his room. And Sam’s back to fearing his brother is taking him to be spanked in front of Cas. He blinks as they cross into the crow’s nest two minutes later. Dean heads straight for the archway into the library and Sam is more than thankful Cas is not present within. Sam feels a tap on his leg and he drops both from around Dean’s waist, his brother setting him fully back onto his feet. Looking at his brother in confusion, Dean points to the back of the room.

“Bring me your spoon, Sam,” Dean instructs.

Sam’s eyes widen, his heart thudding in his chest as he spares a glance to the corner. _Nu-uh,_ _Dean can’t mean…_ but Sam can see from his brother’s face and stance that the man isn’t playing around. _Crap_.

There’s only ever been two implements Dean has used on Sam’s bottom outside of his hand. And both are housed in the library; hanging on their own little nails above Dean’s private desk, the only proper desk in the library which Dean immediately claimed as his own when they first moved in. The old wooden spoon that stings like a bitch hanging right next to the old wooden hairbrush that stings even worse. Sam had not been impressed the first time he had spotted them hanging above the desk in a room it was perfectly obvious from the minute they got here that Sam would be spending most of his time. But then that’s Dean’s silent point isn’t it. The not-so subtle reminder that both implements are still readily available to be brought down and used at any given time. The spoon a step up from Dean’s hand, left for misbehaviour that needs more than just a hand but doesn’t warrant the brush. That thing only comes out for the big things, like Sam purposefully placing his life in danger. He has felt it more than once in the past decade.

And Sam has, as of yet, been unable to salt and burn either evil implement. But one day…    

Sam shakes his head and looks at his brother imploringly. “Dean, please. Not the spoon …” Sam trails off as Dean grasps him by his upper left arm, turns him slightly to the side and swats his bottom hard, before repeating the instruction to bring him the spoon.

Gulping and wanting to rub at the sting but refraining, Sam knows Dean will continue in this vain; instructing and swatting every time Sam doesn’t do as asked. His butt will be stinging before the real thing even begins. So Sam uses his brain and does as he’s told. He turns and heads to the corner housing Dean’s desk. Coming to a stop in front of the desk, he shifts Dean’s desk chair to the side slightly.

Biting at his bottom lip, Sam glances over his shoulder to look at his brother, hoping he can put across another desperate appeal for leniency. But Dean is as still as unyielding marble, arms crossed over his chest and silently watching and waiting for Sam to complete his task. An eyebrow arch’s above one green eye and with a soft whimper, Sam turns back to the wall without saying a word, knowing it would be a waste of oxygen. He draws in a deep breath before he reaches out and grasps his fingers around the head of the wooden spoon, the slightly curved part that will soon be applied to his bottom. He pulls it towards him, the eye in the top of the thin round handle slipping free of the nail. And as slowly as he can possibly get away with, he walks back to his brother. Sam feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment as he holds out the spoon’s handle to Dean.

Dean takes the spoon with a nod, the thanks he isn’t about to say out loud. He slips it in his pocket before Sam’s butt is once again resting on Dean’s hip and Dean is carrying him away, this time towards Sam’s bedroom. Sam again keeps his mouth closed about the carrying and instead utilises the few minutes he has before they reach his bedroom to draw in as much comfort from having Dean’s arms around him. At least as much as his tense body will allow.

Before Sam knows it they’ve already reached his bedroom and he’s being set on his feet just inside the now closed door. He stands still as Dean releases him, suddenly not knowing what to do with himself or how Dean intends to spank him. And contemplates making a run for it. The moment Sam thinks it he knows it’s a bad idea. Dean will have already caught him before he can even cross the threshold of his bedroom door, and his punishment will be that much worse for running. Instead, he watches through his eyelashes as Dean shoves the top sheets on Sam’s bed out of the way, pulls the spoon out of his pocket and sets the evil thing on the mattress before taking a seat right next to it.

Dean eyes meet his with the expectancy of Sam crossing to him and Sam’s eyes burn with fresh tears. He doesn’t want a spanking! He shakes his head as Dean calmly beckons him forwards again. “Please, Dean. I know I got a sp-spanking coming, but please don’t spank me with the spoon. I’ve learnt my lesson, I promise,” he sniffles, hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

Dean’s shoulders are taut, his jaw set, and his eyes are still that same cool green-fire from the bathroom and library. Dean’s calm. And his mind is set on the course of punishment he’s laid out. There will be no changing it on Sam’s front. Sam has never been able to change Dean’s mind once Dean’s made the decision to punish him.

“Sam, come here,” Dean orders, saying nothing to Sam’s teary plea.

Sniffling, Sam shuffles forwards until he stands in front of Dean. Dean reaches out, grasping his wrist and tugging him the last step so Sam is stood to the right of his brother’s legs. Sam reaches up and swipes at an eye with the back of his hand. There are no words. Sam knows full well what he’s done wrong, so Dean won’t lecture and scold, at least not yet. Sam tenses as Dean draws him down over his spread thighs and bodily situates Sam so that his head and upper torso rest at an angle on the mattress. Sam’s long legs splay out behind him but Dean has him positioned so his feet can’t touch the ground. It makes Sam feel even more vulnerable and childlike and Sam hates it. Dean tugs him in closer to his stomach, and Sam’s wishing he’s anywhere else but face down over his big brother’s lap awaiting a spanking.

Only when he feels his brother’s fingers slipping beneath his sweats does Sam struggle against Dean’s hold. “No, Dean, not bare,” Sam cries. Because as much as he’s aware he isn’t getting out of this spanking, if he can at least keep his sweats on it will lessen the impact of his brother’s hard hand. If only a little. But Dean doesn’t dish out full spankings over clothing, only the on-the-spot swats, and his struggles are futile. Dean’s arm clamps down over his waist, the other over his thighs, easily stilling him in place, Sam’s strength no longer holding a candle to his big brother’s new (and once demonic) strength. And unfortunately, in the next second Dean shows Sam just how much he isn’t in charge in any way, shape or form of this situation by pulling Sam’s sweats and underwear down to his knees with one swift tug, fully baring Sam’s bottom. Sam can’t stop himself from throwing his right hand back to try and protect his bare skin from what’s coming.

“Move your hand, Samuel,” Dean’s voice is back to being pure steel.

And as much as Sam wants to keep his hand splayed over his bottom, he can’t disobey that tone, so he draws his hand away with a whimper. Instead he grabs hold of his pillow, tucking it under him and gripping it tightly in his right hand. He snakes his left hand backwards, finding the hem of his big brother’s shirt and grips that just as tightly, needing that small comfort even as he has his butt handed to him.

Sam sucks in a breath when his big brother’s large calloused hand connects sharply with his bottom. He squirms, once again trying to get out of the hold, and once again failing miserably. A barrage of swats follow and he lets out a cry when four quick succession swats land in the same spot, the pain sweeping across his bottom.

“If you ever, _ever_ ,” Dean punctuates that with another harsh swat, “say those cuss words again, directed at me or otherwise, Samuel Dean Winchester, I can promise you won’t like the consequences, do you understand me?”

“Yes sir, I u-understand,” Sam whimpers, trying to stifle anymore tears. It’s embarrassing that he has endured far worse pain than a spanking in his lifetime, but he can never get through a spanking from his big brother without ending up a blubbering mess. So he fails miserably in trying to stifle them, and the tears drip from his eyes as another volley of swats land against his burning rear and thighs. “Owww! ’M sorry! De, ‘m sorry!” His legs are kicking, his fingers curling into his pillow and his brother’s shirt, feeling like the digits are going to tear straight through the fabric, but he doesn’t release his hold as Dean continues spanking him. “Owww! De! Please!”

Dean stops. For a moment Sam thinks he’s free, but then he remembers the spoon as he feels the back of the wooden object come to rest against his bottom, ready for Dean to start spanking with it. Sam cries into his pillow.

“We’re almost there, kiddo,” Dean assures. “Just ten coming with the spoon.”

Sam lets out a wail into his pillow. He doesn’t want ten smacks from the spoon! He doesn’t want any! He jumps and sobs as the wooden spoon is applied to the crease where his bottom meets his thighs, the spot that will make sitting uncomfortable for a good few hours. “Owww! Please De, I won’t c-cuss again, I pr-promise! ’M sorry! ’M sorry!” he dissolves into sobs, just letting himself cry out the pain and regret into his pillow.

It takes Sam a few minutes to realise his brother has stopped with the punishing swats and is now rubbing his back softly in comfort, talking to him quietly and calmly.

“C’mon, kiddo. You’re okay, baby boy. It’s over, Sammy.”

Sam squirms. His bottom is on fire, but he wants up. His breathing is filled with shuddering hiccups as he releases his hold on his pillow and Dean’s shirt, his fingers unconsciously making grabby motions. He feels Dean right his clothing and set him on his feet, but keeps a grip on Sam’s upper arms. Sam whimpers his brother’s name, wanting to be closer and is grateful when Dean quickly stands, pulling Sam in firmly against his chest, strong arms wrapping around Sam tightly. Sam buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck as he continues to cry his pain and regret at saying those things to his big brother.

When his tears finally start to slow, Dean manoeuvres them both so they are once again seated on the bed, Sam’s pillow pushed under his bottom. He still squirms against the soreness of his underwear and sweats rubbing against his flaming skin despite the plump pillow.

“I _am_ really sorry, Dean,” Sam sniffles, rubbing at an eye as a few stray tears trickle down his cheeks.

“I know you are, buddy.” Dean reaches over and swipes his sleeve across Sam’s face in-lieu of the tissue he doesn’t have available. “But you also know my feelings in regards to you cussing.”

Oh yeah, Sam is unfortunately more than aware of how Dean feels about that. His brother had made it plain to him back when Sam was fourteen and cussed for the first time. Because even though he grew up around two men who swore like sailors on any given day, Sam is expected _not_ to have a potty mouth. He isn’t allowed to swear, as a kid or as an adult. Sam has sorely tested the latter many a time, none more so than when Dean picked him up from Stanford. When he swiftly realised Dean still wasn’t going to put up with Sam cussing after Sam had let out a “fuck” and received a swift, hard swat across his backside. Even now, the only curse word Sam can get away with saying most of the time is ass. Anything stronger than that said in his big brother’s vicinity always earns him a swat or a spanking. And if Sam had kept his mouth shut after the first ‘fuck’ he would’ve got away with it because of the circumstances. But then of course he’d lost his mind and gone and thrown in _that_ naughty word directly at his brother. That was what had earned him the spoon, he knows that now.

The gentle pressure of fingers on his chin tilting his face up so he’s looking into his brother’s stern green eyes draws Sam out of his thoughts. “You’re smart enough to find more appropriate words to express yourself, Sam, aren’t you?” Dean says, holding him to that old reason. Sam sometimes wants to tell his brother he’s more than smart enough to do the same thing, but Dean has a hunter’s mouth because John had never felt the need to correct Dean. Had actually been proud of his eldest playing with the big boys and holding his own when Dean had started joining in on hunts. Instead, Sam nods. “No more cussing, Sammy, because if it happens again I promise you’ll be feeling your spoon every other night for a week.” Sam widens his eyes in horror, fresh tears overflowing. “And you’ll be tasting soap just as long. Ya hear me?”

Sam nods frantically, swiping the back of his wrist across his eyes, a couple of hiccups flowing from him. “Yes, Dean,” he manages to choke out.

“Shh, c’mon, bud,” Dean wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls Sam against his chest, lips brushing over Sam’s forehead as a hand rests against the back of his head. “Sammy,” the sound of Dean’s voice rumbles beneath Sam’s ear several minutes later, but he doesn’t move. He knows he should get himself together, but he has always craved comfort from his big brother after a spanking, and it’s when Dean freely gives it. “I get you’re upset about what I revealed about me and Cas, kiddo,” Dean continues. “But if you’d’ve kept a level head, you would’ve realised I said ‘off and on since Purgatory’, Sam. Which actually translates into maybe a dozen or so times before eight or nine months ago. Then …” Dean trails off with a sigh, and Sam tilts his head back in time to see his brother scrub a hand down his face, looking for all the world as if this is the last thing he wants to be discussing with his baby brother. “Look, Sammy, it wasn’t a thing at first. Cas and I… it was just a means to an end back then, to satisfy both our urges, and it just… happened, you know. It wasn’t something you would’ve ever needed to be privy to, and… Neither of us expected it to go any further, Sammy, especially not after Cas and I were both back here. And then we realised it helped to partially satiate the Mark and well… We were gonna tell you, Sammy. We just wanted to wait for the right time.”

Sam tilts his head back further to really look at his brother, before pushing himself upright again in wide-eyed surprise. Is Dean trying to tell Sam what Sam thinks he is? “Dean, are… are you and Cas in a-a relationship?” he asks, stuttering over the question because of his surprise at the thought. “Like a real, more than just sex, _relationship_?”

“Why is that such a big shock, Sammy?” Dean asks, but the softness of his eyes tells Sam he isn’t mad. “I’ve had relationships before.”

Sam doesn’t miss the sincerity in Dean’s eyes and tone. _This is for real_ , Sam thinks flabbergasted. His big brother is actually in a proper relationship with someone and Sam has been completely oblivious to any pertinent signs that should’ve told him sooner.

Sam had almost honestly given up all hope of his big brother ever settling down with _anyone_. Dean’s longest relationship to date is the year he’d spent with Lisa – something he had later revealed was out of obligation to Sam’s last wish before he’d jumped Lucifer into the cage. But Sam knows his brother had grown to love Lisa and a flash of guilt sweeps through him in remembrance of what had later transpired to completely sever Dean’s connection to Lisa and Ben.

 

#

 

Dean can no longer read his little brother’s mind or emotions as it isn’t one of the demonic powers he’s retained, but he can clearly see where the kid’s mind has gone. He doesn’t need powers for that, because it’s where his own has gone. To the last relationship he’d had that held any significance beyond a one-night stand; Lisa Braeden. Sammy wouldn’t bring it up because Dean had told him never to do so, but it doesn’t stop the kid’s thoughts from straying in that direction.

And really, he’d never had any right to be angry with Sam about any of that. Yes, Sammy had suggested it as a last wish, but that had been a wish of wanting Dean out of the life and to be happy more than anything else. Dean had thought Lisa would be the best means to being happy whilst living without Sammy, and it had been _his_ choice and _his_ alone to go to Lisa. To accept her invitation to stay. And stay for as long as he actually did.

And he had been happy - for a time. Once the grief had lessened a fraction (if it ever had at all). And some part of him _had_ loved Lisa and Ben. But deep down Dean knows that that apple pie life would never have worked out. He’s a hunter; he knows that now even if he hadn’t fully back then. He would have grown restless with time, even if Sammy – or that fucked-up soulless version of his little brother – hadn’t shown up. He would have started heading out for hunts, being gone longer and longer each time, until the inevitable had happened and he left that little family for good.

If Dean is honest with himself, it was the idea of what Lisa and Ben had represented that made him want to be with them. The idea of having a partner and a kid to go home to at the end of a work day, someone to share a bed with nightly, to share his life with - it had definitely appealed to him. But it wasn’t _his_. And it wasn’t _him_. Lisa had wanted him to be the respectable Joe Friday to the neighbours, with a decent job and a good income, whilst being a good boyfriend to her, and a father to Ben.

Ben was a good kid, but the boy had also wanted him to be someone he wasn’t, just like his mother had. And it hadn’t been Ben’s fault that nearly everything the kid had done had ultimately reminded him of Sammy; reminded Dean of the kid he’d lost. It was a loss Lisa could never have understood. It was a relationship she had tried and failed to understand when Sam returned.  

With Cas … it isn’t easy by any stretch. They’re still in a reasonably new relationship (one that doesn’t revolve around just sex). They’re still finding their feet with each other. Cas is once again figuring out the whole being human thing and his place in the world. Whilst Dean is trying to sort out his life with powers, come to terms with all that he did under the Mark’s influence, and figure out what’s going on with his kid. There’s a lot going on there. But Cas gets it; he knows the lifestyle Dean lives. He accepts Sam and Dean, knows the drive behind the brothers’ relationship and doesn’t shy away from it.

A nudge against his arm has Dean realising his little brother is still staring at him in wide-eyed puppy wonder, the pink eyes from Sam’s crying only amplifying the effect. Dean hadn’t wanted to dish out such a severe punishment by bringing in the spoon, he hated using that and the hairbrush on his kid. But it was clear the ‘no cussing’ rule was something Dean needed to firmly re-establish despite it never having changed for Sammy. He’d known the soap was coming out after the second fuck, but then his little boy had decided to call him a cunt. And Dean will never stand for being so blatantly disrespected by the boy he’s raised from a tiny squalling infant; one who had been born with those damn puppy-eyes. He smiles inwardly as he wonders if Sammy is going to be ninety and still able to pull off that baby-faced look. _Gotta get the_ _kid to ninety first, ya idjit,_ an irritating voice that’s sounds too much like Bobby reminds him. _Shut_ _up_ , he shoots back wondering if he’s starting to lose it. Dean needs to get back on track and be done with this conversation. There is a more pressing conversation he and Cas need to have with Sammy.

“You going to be okay with this, Sammy? Me and Cas.”

Sam stares at him a moment longer, grimacing lightly as he wriggles his butt on the pillow, before nodding slowly. “I think so. Cas isn’t leaving to live somewhere else, right?” Sam nibbles on his lower lip, clearly worried by the prospect.

“No, Sammy, Cas isn’t leaving,” Dean assures him. “This is Cas’ home now too.”

“That’s good. And he’s still going on hunts with us too, right?” Dean nods in response, silently wondering what’s got his kid so worried about Cas leaving all of a sudden. “Then nothing much has changed,” Sam shrugs, “except now I know the pair of you are in a relationship. You don’t have to hide from me.” Sam shoots him a small smirk, “Just… I know you’re not one for public displays of affection anyway, Dean, but it’d be really nice if I didn’t see the two of you having sex ever again thanks.”

“You won’t,” Dean assures with a smirk, ruffling Sam’s hair. “I don’t want my innocent baby brother seeing that either.”

“Deeeeaaan!” Sammy whines, his elbow nudging Dean in the side, “you make me sound like a baby or some naïve virgin!”

“Well that’s good, cos you are still both a baby and a naïve virgin, Sammy,” Dean remarks, chuckling, though he silently thinks a part of him is being half-serious – he just isn’t sure which part.

“Am not,” Sam pouts, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Just because I haven’t experienced _everything_ about sex like you undoubtedly have, it doesn’t make me a virgin, Dean.”

“But you don’t deny being a baby and naïve,” Dean says amused, laughing as he falls sideways on the mattress when Sammy shoves him.

“You’re a jerk,” Sam replies with a roll of his eyes.

“Bitch,” Dean responds, the epithet rolling off his tongue automatically as he pushes himself back upright.

They stare at each other a moment, the understanding of how long it has been since those simple - yet meaningful - words have last been directed solely at each other silently passing between them. Sam looks away first, thumb and forefinger plucking at imaginary lint on the right knee of his sweats.  

“Is Cas okay? With me having seen …?”

Dean gives the kid a one shouldered shrug. “He’s fine, Sammy. Ex-angel remember. Sex, like nudity, is a natural part of humanity, he doesn’t feel embarrassment by it. His words,” Dean cocks a half-grin, before he becomes serious once again. “His concern is in making sure you aren’t traumatised. Are you traumatised, Sammy?” Sam shrugs his slim shoulders. His little brother has lost far too much weight over the past three years, during and since the Hell trials.

Sam briefly looks at him sideways and Dean narrows his eyes fractionally at the sudden gleam he witnesses in those familiar hazel eyes. “Though it _was_ quite a traumatising experience,” Sammy’s voice is soft – and wounded, with just that subtle hint of manipulation. “The kind of experience that requires… compensation.”

Dean refrains from rolling his eyes, figuring he’s about to be asked to reverse a certain bedtime that isn’t being changed anytime soon. “And this compensation would be?”

“I think you should spring me from caffeine-free life,” Sam states as if that is the most obvious compensation in the world. Dean arch’s an eyebrow at the kid - partially in surprise of the request - and Sam soon starts squirming beneath it. “Or not. You sure, Dean? It’d be a very good big brotherly thing to do what with my traumatising …”

Dean raises a hand, stopping his baby brother mid-sentence. “Big brother took your caffeine away, Sam. You got a free pass because of the Obilaya, but no more. And I’m not changing my mind anytime soon so stop trying to push it and just accept that fact, kid.” Dean ignores the bottom lip pushing out into the familiar pout. “But I will allow you to have a soda every now ‘n’ then as a treat only.”

“Really, Dean? _Really_?” Sam’s eyes widen comically as he starts bouncing on his pillow, clapping his hands in an overly exaggerated manner. “Yay! Yippee!”

Dean snorts and shakes his head at the prevalent sarcasm in his baby brother’s tone. He reaches out, grasping the kid’s upper arms in a gentle hold, stilling the bouncing. “I can see your butts no longer sore. Maybe I didn’t do such a great job."

“Uh-uh, no,” Sam stares back at him wide-eyed and worried, hands straying under him. “You did, Dean. My bottom’s still plenty sore.”

“I’m joking, Sammy,” Dean lets the kid out of his rising misery. “But can I get a serious response from you now? Cas is really worried about this.”

Sam blows out a breath of relief. “Dean, I’m fine. It wasn’t like it was the first time I’ve ever seen you having sex.”

Dean has the decency to at least feel slightly abashed amongst a hint of anger directed at himself. He had been careless when he was younger (and older apparently); his Sammy should never have seen any of it. “Yeah, I know.”

“Though I actually didn’t really _see_ anything aside from your naked butt and legs which I’ve seen far too many times before anyway.” Dean snorts; that’s certainly true. He and Sam have spent too many days and nights in confined quarters not to have grown accustomed to seeing each other naked on occasion. Plus Dean changed Sammy’s diapers and bathed him – had showered him and bared his butt not too long ago; his kid didn’t have anything he hadn’t seen numerous times before. Sam shoots him a half-smirk and continues, “You can assure Cas that if I was going to be traumatised by the sight of your naked butt it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

Dean tips his head back and laughs, a freeing sound that hasn’t released from him in a long while. He shakes his head, his laughter tapering off as he catches the small look of wonder on his kid’s face, as if Sammy’s never seen him laughing like that before. Well, certainly not in a while that’s for sure. Dean clears his throat and rises to his feet.  

“Lay back, Sammy,” Dean instructs. “I need to check how your feet are doing.”

“They’re fine, Dean,” Sam grumbles in complaint. “Check ‘em later.

“ _Sam_.”

Sam flops back on the mattress as if what Dean is asking of him is some great hardship. Dean rolls his eyes at the drama queen. Sam draws his legs up so his bandaged feet are resting on the bed instead of hanging over the edge and slips his thumb in his mouth. Grasping the left foot first Dean lifts it up and makes short work of unwrapping the bandages, pleased to see no red smears on the fabric. He repeats the process with the right foot. The larger gash hasn’t started scabbing over yet like the smaller ones have, but the wound is dry and there is no sign of infection in any of them. Which is a miracle where Sam’s concerned.

“Lookin’ good, kiddo. I’ll bind them back up for now, but they’re coming off and staying off later.” Dean wouldn’t normally rebind wounds in the same bandages – at least when they had fresh ones available to them – but the wounds are dry and at this point the bandages are just for cushioning so Sammy can walk comfortably today.

Sam nods before smothering a yawn around his thumb.

Two minutes later, Dean is taping off the end of the bandage on Sam’s left foot when he hears the sound of his baby brother’s loud, grumbling stomach. Sam blushes again, thumb slipping from his mouth with an audible pop, as his hands shoot down to splay across his stomach. Dean shakes his head lightly at the action. _As if that’s really going to cover up the noise, Sammy,_ he thinks amused.

“My tummy-tiger’s growly.” The kid’s blush deepens the instant the words slip past his lips.

Dean grins lightly, patting the side of Sammy’s leg. He hasn’t heard _that_ phrasing in a while and clearly from the pink-hued cheeks Sammy hadn’t meant to say it. “Best we get tummy-tiger fed pronto then,” Dean responds in the same way he always had when Sammy was younger, and holds out a hand to the kid. Sam grasps it after shooting him a mild-glare for the light teasing. “C’mon,” Dean pulls Sam up from his lying position and onto his feet, “Cas is heating some soup for you.”

“Wait, Cas can cook?”

“Nope. Charlie.”

“Ah, that makes much more sense." 

Dean snorts.

 

**#SPN#**

 

 _Yum, Charlie can definitely cook_ , Sam thinks as he savours the taste of the chicken and leek soup, squishing the last piece of his tiger-loaf soaked in the broth against his tongue and palate, just letting the flavours seep out of the bread. The earlier taste of soap on Sam’s tongue and teeth had thankfully been eradicated after the first few mouthfuls of the delicious tasting food.

This is only the second time he’s tasted any of Charlie’s cooking. The first time Sam had been stuffed too full of cold to be able to properly enjoy it. Several trickles of soup finds its way out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin, slipping on down to his t-shirt, but’s he too engrossed in the taste to notice.

Something else he’s oblivious to is Dean and Cas silently watching him with faint smiles of approval from their places across from him at the kitchen table (Sam isn’t sitting at the breakfast bar again until it’s been scrubbed down nine times over, preferably with bleach). Neither man is eating, but they both have a hand wrapped around their cups, Dean’s filled with coffee and Cas’ with tea.

Sam swallows his mouthful, a small burp releasing from him a moment later. “‘Scuse me,” he mumbles, before asking for more bread.

“You don’t want to be overloading your stomach with bread, kiddo,” Dean points out. “Not after throwing up and having only had half a cracker to eat since then. Eat your soup.”

Sam pouts, not even the memory of that embarrassing moment can dampen his want for more bread right now. “One more piece, Dean. Please?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, Sammy.”

“There’s probably enough soup for half a bowlful after you’ve finished that one, Sam. If you want it,” Cas offers.

“There you go, Sammy,” Dean says. “You can have more soup, but no more bread.”

Sam narrows his eyes mutinously. He wants bread, not more soup. He’s already on his second bowl. Why is he even asking Dean for permission for more food anyway? It’s _their_ food; he always helps himself. That thought sees Sam pushing himself to his feet and moving to cross to the island where the loaf of bread is sitting. However, he feels his wrist grasped before he can even take a second step, and he’s tugged towards Dean. He squirms, expecting to feel Dean’s hand across his sore bottom for not listening and is surprised to find himself sitting on Dean’s lap a second later, his legs resting in the space separating Dean and Cas’ seats the other side of where Sam had been standing. _Crap, how’d Dean manage that without me even noticing? Must have spaced out,_ Sam concludes and looks to Cas who is calmly watching him, the older man taking a mouthful of the Chinese Breakfast Black Tea he’s come to enjoy the taste of. The stuff just looks like tree bark mixed with water to Sam, and doesn’t taste much better either. Sam then turns to Dean and blinks at his brother in confusion.

“Dean, what …?” Sam starts, only for his brother to cut him off.

“What did I just tell you about the bread, Sam?” Dean questions calmly but firmly. Sam drops his gaze to Dean’s chest, fingers unconsciously playing with a button on Dean’s deep-blue shirt. A soft tap of a finger to his chin has him raising his eyes to meet Dean’s. “Sam, what did I say?”

“No more bread,” Sam replies grumpily.

“That’s right. Except you’ve clearly forgotten that when I say ‘no’ to you about something, that’s exactly what I mean.”

Sam shakes his head. “I haven’t forgotten,” he replies strongly, because he does listen when Dean tells him no – most of the time. Dean’s ‘no’ is usually accompanied with a good explanation as to why Sam cannot or is not allowed to do something. And he respects that – again, most of the time. Save for those times when Dean is just being a complete ass, then Sam just ignores him. “I just don’t think it’s relevant for you to be saying no right now. Not when it’s just one slice of bread, Dean. I don’t see what the big deal is about that.”

“The big deal is you’ve been sick recently and consequently haven’t eaten anything except for half a cracker in over thirty-nine hours …”

“Wait, what?” _Thirty-nine hours. How can that be?_ Sam looks to Cas for some confirmation on his brothers words. Their former-angel nods his agreement. “But… it was about half-ten when I had my shower after… you know,” now he can feel his cheeks heat lightly with the remembered embarrassment of collapsing and throwing up. If only he had the ability to just stop freaking blushing. “I can’t have been out that long before the whole Obilaya thing.”

“Dean put you to bed at half-ten _Sunday_ morning, Sam. You slept for around twenty-five hours.”

“It’s Tuesday now, Sammy.”

Tuesday? Dean had sprung Sam from his grounding at breakfast Sunday morning before he’d headed out to the green to watch Dean and Cas sparing. And which had subsequently led him to have that irrational fear and collapse. Had that really exhausted him to the point he’d slept an entire day away before the Obilaya got its claws into him?

“You’re not kidding are you?” He asks slowly. Dean and Cas both shake their heads. Sam slumps down against Dean’s shoulder. Crap, it’s Tuesday. He fucking hates Tuesday’s.

“C’mon, bud.” Sam can feel Dean’s hand running over his hair. “Finish up your soup,” Dean says, “or do you want me to feed you?” There is no teasing lilt to the words which immediately tells Sam his brother is being serious. Dean wants him to eat more of the soup, without the bread mind, and Dean _will_ feed him like a two-year-old if Sam doesn’t do it himself.

“I do it,” Sam says, cringing at how much that came out sounding like he was actually a two-year-old demanding to feed himself.

“All right, buddy,” Dean says, the table digging into Sam’s ribs as Dean leans forwards with him still on his lap and draws Sam’s quarter-filled bowl across the table.

Dean picks up the spoon – thankfully empty - from within the bowl and holds the handle out to Sam at the same time he feels Dean’s free arm close around his waist. A clear indication that he can feed himself but he isn’t getting off Dean’s lap until he is done. Sam refrains from rolling his eyes. He definitely isn’t going to mention how comforted he feels being on his big brother’s lap again, secure within Dean’s strong arms. _Nope. Never ever mentioning that._ Sam takes the spoon and starts on his soup again, though now only warm it still tastes great.

“Did you tell the Grey’s the hunt is done with?” Sam questions between mouthfuls.

“Mmm-hmm,” Dean hums against his coffee cup, lowering it down from his lips and swallowing. “Called them earlier. They both sounded pretty relieved to hear you were alright.” Sam nods. He likes the old couple. “Invited us to Sunday lunch next week as a thank you, but I told ‘em we won’t be in the area.”

Sam frowns. “We won’t?”

Dean’s phone rings before Sam can get an answer. Sam feels Dean’s arm around his waist squeeze a little tighter as Dean shifts to dig out the phone from his front right jeans pocket. He tries to glimpse the caller ID but Dean is too quick and is already setting the phone to his ear.

“Cray, thanks for getting back to me,” Dean says. “You find something?”

Cray? Sam’s frown deepens. Why’s Dean in contact with Cray Additch? The much older hunter isn’t in great health; the man handles any small hunts that crop up in his immediate area of Lakewood, Washington State, but for anything larger he calls in outside help. From Dean’s first words alone it sounds as if Dean had been the one to contact the older hunter. Something Dean isn’t primarily known to do. The only times Sam has known Dean to reach out to other hunters – outside of Bobby, Rufus and Garth - is when Sam is in trouble. He remembers Dean saying something to the Grey couple about being in contact with their son Al recently. That has to have something to do with this then. Huh. Maybe Dean has _finally_ gotten it into his head that he _can_ ask for help for himself for once. Or maybe Cas’ influence is doing that.

Sam blinks as he feels a nudge against the handle of the spoon in his hold, his gaze meeting stern blue eyes. Cas taps the rim of Sam’s soup bowl with a finger, indicating for him to continue and quit listening to Dean’s conversation. Sam rolls his eyes; not listening in is a little hard when he’s sitting on the man’s lap. Cas sighs and holds out a hand, palm up. Sam frowns in return, before realising what the man is asking. He quickly draws his spoon closer to his body and shakes his head. No way is Cas feeding him.

“Then eat, please,” Cas tells him quietly.

Sam glances at his brother who is too invested in his phone call to have noticed the exchange – or at least doesn’t look to have noticed but Sam knows Dean’s too observant to have missed it. Sam nods to Cas and sticks his spoon noisily into his bowl and scoops up some more soup, placing the spoon to his lips and slurping up the liquid. Cas shoots him a warning look; Sam gives him his most innocent look back and hides a grin as Cas shakes his head with a sigh. Sam drops his spoon back in his bowl with a loud clang of metal meeting ceramic – Dean shoots him a glare proving Sam’s earlier point – and pushes the bowl away. He’s full now.  

Trying not to show he’s straining to hear the softly-spoken voice coming through his brother’s phone - lest he be met by Cas’ stern eyes again - Sam picks up his cup (a tall tumbler complete with lid and straw) that Cas purchased for him on the former-angel’s first solo grocery run after becoming human again. Sam figures it was meant to be some sort of consolation prize for Sam not being allowed coffee anymore or something. His own special cup for his juice and milk and whatever. Sam would gladly toss it in the garbage but he doesn’t have the heart to hurt Cas’ feelings – the man had been super happy about giving the gift; not to mention Dean wouldn’t let Sam throw it out anyway. Now it makes an appearance whenever Dean or Cas fix him a drink (or if Sam gets himself one in their vicinity). He’s just glad it’s made of clear plastic without any stupid cartoon figure or something on the side. He isn’t a kid. He doesn’t need a sippy-cup. He sets his lips around the straw, drawing up a mouthful of mango juice and swallows as Dean shuts off his call.  

“What was that about?” Sam queries causally after releasing the straw.

Dean gives him a stern look. “Could you have been any noisier, kid?” _Absolutely_ , Sam thinks amusedly, but refrains from voicing and instead arch’s an eyebrow, waiting for the answer to his question. “Cas and I didn’t sit around with our thumbs up our asses whilst you were sleeping, Sammy.”

“Oh, I got that thanks,” Sam allows the sarcasm to flow, “Cas definitely didn’t have his thumb up his ass.”  

Cas coughs and splutters on the mouthful of tea he’s just taken. Sam sniggers lightly. Dean’s hand releases from Sam’s waist long enough to come down against the side of Sam’s thigh in a sharp swat of reprimand, before returning to Sam’s waist.

“Ow! Dean,” Sam turns hurt eyes to his brother as the sting sweeps across his thigh.

“Before that, smartass. Now you apologise to Cas,” Dean instructs firmly, even as he is handing over a spare paper napkin to Cas who nods his thanks and wipes his mouth free of tea splashes.

Sam blinks and swallows, realising he’d been an ass for saying what he did and laughing. Cas had been really worried for Sam after Sam had seen the two together earlier. Dean had told him as much. “’M sorry, Cas.”

Cas nods. His voice sounds a little gruffer from his coughing when he says, “You’re forgiven, Sam.”

Something loosens in Sam’s chest at hearing the words. He hadn’t been aiming to upset Cas or piss him off. Sam watches as Dean places a finger on the rim of Sam’s bowl and lightly tilts it to peer inside. There’s only a small amount of soup left inside, not even enough to produce a full spoonful.

“We’ve been busy calling hunter contacts,” Dean finally answers Sam’s question, setting the bowl back upright and obviously satisfied Sam’s eaten enough.

“For what?” Sam queries.  

“Sam.” Sam turns his gaze to Cas again. “Your brother and I need to know what happened out on the green Sunday morning.”

Sam squirms on Dean’s lap and shakes his head, fingers once again unconsciously finding his brother’s shirt button. “It was nothing. I just got dizzy for a minute.” Neither older man look impressed by that explanation.

“Sammy, you need to tell us.”

Sam sighs. It will be of no use keeping the truth from either one of them. Dean definitely will not let it rest if he thinks the information is important to Sam’s continuing health. And he’s already been warned not to withhold information right now, especially pertaining to himself. Dean and Cas are holding each other under the same directive. Anything could be an aftereffect of the spell at this point. So… Sam blurts out everything; the all-encompassing fear he’d felt watching them spar and thinking they were going to kill each other and leave him alone; his breath freezing in his throat causing his collapse; and he reluctantly explains the flashback he had of Dean’s death whilst he was out.  

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice ghosts against his ear, his forehead having come to rest against the side of Sam’s head in the process of his truthful explanation. “Fearing losing me and Cas isn’t a stupid or irrational fear, baby boy,” Dean tells him voice stronger, firmer, the arm around Sam’s waist maybe squeezing a little too tightly, but Sam doesn’t point it out. “I _did_ die just over three weeks ago, kiddo. You’re more than entitled to those feelings, Sammy.”  

“Sam, we all know not one of us can make any kind of promise that we’ll still be here tomorrow,” Cas points out quietly, hands coming to rest atop Sam’s knees, “but we will fight with everything we have to keep it that way. You and Dean, you’re all I have left now. I don’t intend on losing either of you anytime soon, little one.”

Sam blinks tears from his eyes. He hadn’t realised until now just how much he’d needed that reassurance from both his big brother and Cas. To know that he isn’t being stupid; that his fear of losing Dean and Cas is not irrational, but in fact fully rational. Both Dean and Cas are right. They have lost each other in the past. There is no guarantee they won’t lose each other in the future. Hell, it’s a foregone conclusion. But Sam really hopes they have a good few more years to be a family before something trounces all over them. Which means it’s time they find a solution to Dean and Cas’ burning from the inside problem. Sam performing the spell has left them both vulnerable – that’s fully on Sam – it’s time he fixes it; head out there, rather than trying to find some relevant information in books, and scrolls and resources he’s searched and searched through too many times to count. Even if he has to go by himself …

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking, Samuel,” Dean’s voice scolds next to his ear, making Sam jolt out of his thoughts and do his best to make it seem as if he hadn’t nearly jumped off of his brother’s lap in surprise. “And you can stop right now. You’re not going off _anywhere_ by yourself.”

“Then what am I supposed to do, Dean?!” Sam throws back, his temper rising. “I did this to you and Cas. Because of the spell …”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Sam,” Cas cuts in sharply, “I agreed upon our course of action if you well remember. I agreed we would perform the spell on Dean. Not one of us would have been able to foresee this outcome. As it is …” Cas looks at Dean, who Sam sees nod in return, “… your brother and I were brainstorming whilst you were sleeping… and we believe the powers _are_ having an effect.”

Sam bites his bottom lip, the familiar fear and worry seeping in as he looks from Cas to Dean. If the powers are having an effect on Dean and Cas then they’re screwed. Dean and Cas _have_ to see reason. They have to get out there …

“Just hear Cas out, Sam,” Dean instructs, bringing Sam out of his thoughts once again, hearing a measure of control in Dean’s tone as he reaches up and draws Sam’s bottom lip out from under his teeth.  

With that gone, Sam raises his hand to his mouth, slipping his thumb between his lips, drawing on the comfort of suckling against it as he frowns lightly, unable to figure out what emotion exactly Dean is trying to control – and hide from Sam. Because though he can read Dean pretty well, Dean has always been better at reading Sam than the other way around. The man has had a lot of practice over the years; and Dean has unfortunately had too much practice at hiding his own emotions. Sam apparently wears his on his sleeve.

“We believe,” Cas continues, “our powers are not effecting Dean and I through the burnout you’ve been fearing. As we’ve all been fearing,” Cas corrects himself. _Ok-ay, but Cas just said the powers_ are _having an effect on him and Dean and now he isn’t?_ Sam’s confused. Dean’s arms around Sam’s waist tighten again, but still not to the point of being painful. “They’re potentially having a detrimental effect… on _you_.”

 

#

 

Sam silently tracks his gaze from Cas’ serious expression to Dean’s pained green eyes. Back and forth before he settles on Dean. Fear is an emotion Dean has learnt to control well and from an early age; since before he’d become a teenager with the responsibility of having to reassure a little Sammy that the monsters aren’t coming to get him after Sam had found out about what was out there. Maybe even before then. But the look in Dean’s eyes right now expresses all of which he’d only moments ago been trying to hide. This theory is twisting Dean up inside – the possibility he and Cas have unconsciously brought pain to Sam these past two weeks.  

He slips his thumb out and gives a shake of his head, his hair falling around his face. He brushes it back. “I don’t understand. How could that even be possible? I haven’t felt anything.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “Sam, the day we found out about retaining these powers and Cas being human, what did Cas and I do?”

“Err …” Sam frowns, throwing his mind back just over two weeks to that day, wondering where they were both going with this. “Oh. You went down to the shooting range to test them out.”

"Uh-huh. And when I got back to the library two hours later you were in the midst of a headache the likes of which you haven't had in years. You've been having headaches on and off for the past two weeks - each and every one coinciding with power use from me or Cas."

Huh. Sam honestly hasn’t thought anything of his headaches. They’re headaches, nothing new there. He’s suffered with them in the past; more so back when he was having visions – and the demon-blood fuelled powers. Connecting them as coinciding with power use from Dean and Cas is something he never would have even considered. But then… wait, that can’t be right.  

"If that's the case why haven't I had a headache when either of you use your strength then?” Sam counters. Not because he wants the theory to be wrong. He’ll willingly take the pain if it means Dean and Cas aren’t going to burn out. But if they make the mistake of focusing on Sam being the only one effected and then later realise he isn’t, they could be too late to change anything. “You were using your strength to carry me not too long ago, Dean.”

"It's simple, Sam," Cas responds. "The strength doesn’t manifest power; it is a physical ability tied to the powers yes, but not reliant on them for its use. It is now tied into every layer of mine and Dean’s muscles, as it is tied to an angel or demon's physical body. If we were to rid ourselves of these powers tomorrow for example, our strength would reduce considerably but we would still retain a portion, making us stronger than the strongest of humans rather than being almost on par with an angel or demon."

 _Okay, that makes sense._ “But then what about yesterday morning?” Sam shakes his head and corrects himself, “I mean Sunday morning. Were either of you using powers other than strength in your fight?”

Guilt clouds Cas’ blue eyes as he withdraws his hands from where they’re resting on top of Sam’s knees. Sam feels a sudden bereft feeling flood him, before it fizzles away. He shakes it off. Places it down to the loss of warmth against his knees from Cas’ hands.

“Cas tried shoving me off balance with his powers as I swung to punch him only seconds before your collapse, Sammy.”

“Oh. But I don’t remember feeling a headache coming on before I collapsed. Unless …” Sam frowns, “unless you think it’s progressed from headaches.”

“That’s our fear,” Cas responds quietly.

God, Cas is practically vibrating with guilt. Sam can almost sense the ridiculous thought of unworthiness the man’s feeling at touching Sam running through Cas’ mind. The man’s hands are clenched into tight fists atop Cas’ knees, white knuckles clear to see, as he physically holds himself back from reaching out to hold Sam’s knees again. Sam kicks him hard in the shin with the side of a bandaged foot, ignoring the slight jolt of pain zinging up his own leg.

“Ow,” Cas says mildly, frowning at Sam whilst leaning down to rub the spot.

Dean snorts. “Just be grateful he didn’t have his boots on. Now put your hands back on his knees, you moron.”

Cas blinks, before slowly unrolling his fingers from their clenched position, mouth opening into the shape of an O as he comes to some kind of realisation; the same one Dean has obviously reached. Cas looks down at his hands briefly before glancing up at Sam through his eyelashes. Sam nods his permission and almost melts into his brother’s chest at the extra warmth and comfort he feels from Cas’ simple touch. Yet he has no idea why. He misses the troubled looks shared between Dean and Cas because he is too busy yawning and scrubbing at his eyes, his mind whirling with what he’s been told.  

And the more he thinks on it the sounder the theory, except for one tiny glitch. He looks at his brother. Because Sam might have been barely with it Sunday when Dean had showered him, but right now there is one thing sticking out clearly in his memory. “You do realise you used telekinesis to take your socks off Sunday, right?” Dean’s forehead creases in confusion, before realisation strikes.

“When was this?” Cas questions.

“Sam’s shower. I couldn’t reach my feet with Sasquatch on my lap so …”

“You took them off using your powers,” Cas concludes. Dean nods.

“I remember being really tired, but I don’t remember having a headache or collapsing directly after Dean taking his socks off,” Sam informs them. “And from what you’ve explained of your theory, the latter should’ve happened, right?”

“He did almost crack his head open on the tiles of the bathroom floor when he fell asleep but that wasn’t until about seven or eight minutes later,” Dean adds.

“And we theorised it would be a direct headache or collapse,” Cas says contemplatively, the lines crossing his forehead now fully prominent. Cas suddenly holds out a hand to Sam’s tumbler sitting innocuously on the table and the cup sails into the former-angel’s hand, wobbling slightly as it impacts Cas’ palm. Cas wraps his fingers around it.

“Cas!” Dean barks, “That could’ve …”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam interjects. Green and blue eyes stare at him. “Nothing happened, I’m fine,” he assures his brother. “Still awake. No headache.”

Dean and Cas look at one another in confusion, before Cas turns to survey Sam, scrutinising gaze running up and down. Sam watches Cas withdraw his remaining hand from his knee a moment later and reach out to Sam’s left hand. Cas grasps it and moves it away from where its resting against Dean’s hand around his waist, and sets Sam’s arm - from the elbow down - to rest on the table. Cas pushes the tumbler back to where it was on the table before he’d summoned it.

“Cas, what are you doing?” The demand is clear in Dean’s tone.  

But Sam now understands. All too clearly. He surveys his position on his brother’s lap; the placing of his hand now on the table whilst the other rests atop his thigh. He swallows, figuring this might hurt or make him throw up again. He’s not sure which will be worse.

“Sam …” Cas starts apologetically.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Sam assures, bracing himself. “We have to know for sure.”

“Know what?” Dean demands in a low growl, impatience with Cas and Sam’s lack of response shining through.

“If the powers are definitely impacting me,” Sam tells his brother. “And if it can be controlled to some degree.” Sam nods to Cas as he sees Dean’s frown deepen. His brother hasn’t yet realised what Sam and Cas are getting at but it won’t take much longer. And it’s a good idea to get this done before Dean _does_ figure it out.

Cas once again holds his hand open and the tumbler sails across the table into it. A brief searing burst of pain shoots through Sam’s skull. His eyes roll up into his head and he crashes into unconsciousness.

 

#

 

“What the fucking hell, Cas?!” Dean barks letting loose the hold he has around Sam’s waist to catch the kid as Sam starts toppling backwards off his lap. His hand splays across the back of his kid’s skull, whilst his other hand has grabbed hold of Sam’s t-shirt. He shoots his partner a glare as he resituates his baby brother on his lap to make them both more comfortable.  

“Dean, I’m sorry, but as Sam said we have to know …”

“Know _what_ , Cas?” Dean interrupts harshly. “We already knew these fucking powers are effecting Sam and not _us_! What we don’t have any clue about is what these headaches and collapses might be doing to Sam’s brain and what? You just figured you’d go ahead and test some damn theory on my baby brother without my say so?”

Cas’ eyes harden. “If I could have taken the pain Sam suffered onto myself I would have in a heartbeat, Dean. You’re not the only one who cares for him! But without testing if our theory is accurate we’d be stuck. And this …” Cas gestures at Sam’s unconscious form, “… has at least proven that skin contact with you can counteract the effects of our powers to a certain degree.”

“Skin… _skin contact_?” Dean repeats incredulously. “You’re saying Sammy didn’t feel it the first time you moved his cup because his hand was in contact with mine?”

“Yes. And when you used power to remove your socks Sunday Sam had his shirt off while you were holding him. Though it’s doubtful it will be sufficient enough in the long run to stop Sam feeling the effects if we were to expend a great deal more power than a small burst of telekinesis.” Cas’ voice is grave as are his eyes as they stare into Dean’s. “We have to be cautious, Dean. There is no telling how long we can hold this off for. Sam may well be burning out right now just because we have these powers inside us both, and not because we’ve actually used any. And using them would be expediting his demise.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His baby brother has a death sentence hanging over his head.

Again.

 

#

 

Sam blinks open his eyes, expecting to feel a lingering sensation of that strong pain but there is none. A grey-sleeved arm is invading his vision and there is a slight pressure of a hand against his forehead. It’s removed after a moment and Cas is there, seated in the same place, his elbows now resting on his knees.

“You’re okay, Sammy.”

Dean’s voice above him clues Sam into the fact he’s still seated on Dean’s lap. Except Sam’s curled himself more into his brother. His chest is now mostly resting against Dean’s, his arms hanging down either side of his brother’s body, and he can feel the weight of Dean’s joined hands sitting on his back, just above his bottom. His face is half-buried against Dean’s collarbone. Sam’s cheeks feel tight and he tastes salt. Great, he’s been crying again. Embarrassment sweeps through him for the umpteenth time and he pushes himself upright, stifling a yawn amidst his thumb.  

Sam removes his thumb to scrub at his eyes with his fists. “How long was I out this time?”

Dean glances down at his watch and says, “Twenty-three minutes.”

It really shouldn’t surprise Sam that Dean would keep track of every minute he was out; had probably set the timer on his phone as well. It amuses him as much as it gladdens his soul to know Dean is still here; caring about him in that silent way the man doesn’t give freely to just anybody. If things had gone differently three weeks ago, Sam shudders lightly… he can’t even think on any other outcome than what had passed. Because Sam more than likely would be dead; and maybe Cas to. And his demonic brother would have gone on to murder the world.

“So, I’m gonna burn out, huh?”

“No, you’re not,” Dean tells him sharply. “Cas and I aren’t just gonna sit back and let you burn out, Sammy. We’re gonna find an answer to this. But in the meantime neither of us will be using any powers. ”

Sam shakes his head. “I didn’t save you to watch you die again, Dean. Even in trying to save me. That’s what always happens. We save each other only for the one doing the saving to end up cursed or something. I don’t want to die, Dean, okay. I realise that now, but maybe this is just the way it has to be. And you won’t be alone …”

“Stop talking. Now.” The voice is pain-filled and brings Sam to a crashing halt, because it comes from Cas. “You do not mention dying again, Samuel. Do you understand? Not one word about it, or _I’ll_ spank you.”  

Sam blinks, swallowing sharply and looks to Dean for help. Because surely Cas doesn’t have his big brother’s permission to spank Sam, does he? Dean would have told him. But his brother’s face is stoic, his eyes just as pained as Cas’ voice. Sam can feel how rigid Dean is holding himself, and he realises his brother is unable to bring himself to talk right now out of fear of losing his temper with Sam. That was why Cas has stepped in. Sam bit his bottom lip and turns back to look at Cas through his eyelashes.

“Yes sir, I understand,” Sam responds quietly.

Cas nods, reaching out towards Sam’s knees and Sam notices the man’s hands are shaking before they descended upon his knees again and he feels that warmth filter in, a warmth that is becoming familiar. He feels some of the rigidity leave his brother, Dean’s forehead tipping forward to rest against the side of Sam’s head again.

“Good boy,” the whisper brushes against his ear. Sam feels his throat burn as he holds himself back from allowing anymore tears to fall at the weight he hears behind that whisper; Dean is scared. Dean only allows himself a brief moment to show it, for his baby brother to see it, and then he straightens up, back in control, back in charge once again. He gives Sam a small smile, thumb sliding across Sam’s cheek briefly. “Cas, grab us a damp cloth would you?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas responds. That warmth once again leaves Sam as Cas stands and crosses the kitchen to the sink, but Sam still has all the warmth in the world right next to him and under him in the shape of his brother. Sam shakes his head in confusion at his own thoughts and moves to a topic that isn’t so chick-flick.

“Is this what you contacted Cray about?” He questions his brother, remembering Dean and Cas’ explanation had spiralled from that phone call.

Dean nods. “Partly. The other part, well, genius over there wants to hunt down Rowena.”

“Rowena? The same Rowena Dean wants to gank just for scorching my toe last year?” Sam questions with a disbelieving look towards Cas now that they are back onto safe ground. “The same Rowena who’s being hunted by Crowley’s henchmen?”

“The one in the same,” Cas responds over the sound of running water.

Dean shoots Sam a glare. “She didn’t scorch your toe, Sammy, she almost burnt your god damned freaking leg off. You’ve still got some of the scars. There’s a huge difference.”

“Okay, Dean, I get your pissed she hurt me,” Sam placates, earning himself another glare and one he ignores. “But do we really want to get into a confrontation with Crowley’s goons over a witch?” he asks as Cas returns with the cloth. Cas hands it off to Dean who spreads the dark purple cloth over his palm and Sam doesn’t really pay much attention to it until that cloth is applied to his face, swiping over his skin. Gah! Sam twists away – or tries to, Dean has a pretty good grip on him still.

“Deeeeeaaannnn!!!” he whines long and loud from behind the cloth, trying to push his brother’s hand away with his own. He gets it smacked away for his trouble, and he has to shake the sting out.

“Stop it, Sam, it’s just a freaking cloth. It’s not killing you,” Dean rebukes as he continues to wipe Sam’s skin before grasping Sam’s hands one at a time and wiping his palms and fingers clean. “There,” Dean sets the cloth down on the table, “and don’t put that thumb back in your mouth.”  

Sam pouts, now wanting to do just that. God, how many times is he going to be treated like a child today? He had only collapsed, puked, got lost, torn up his feet and had his life-essence sucked out twice. In the grand scheme of things they’ve all had to endure over the years, that’s basically nothing. And Sam’s more than proved he’s capable of looking after himself. But Dean’s treating him with kid gloves again. Oh god, what if there isn’t anything wrong with _Sam_. What if it’s all _Dean_? What if Sam’s emotions going haywire these past two weeks is because he has been reacting to the shift in _Dean’s_ behaviour?

Because his brother is showing a side of himself that Sam had thought long gone (and which he misses a lot more than he’ll admit, if he’s honest with himself), a side of Dean that Sam hasn’t seen since before Stanford. A Dean who was father, mother, brother, protector and friend rolled into one. A fucking hell of a lot of roles on someone’s shoulders who at the time was still only twenty/twenty-one and had juggled those roles practically his entire life.

When Dean had come to Stanford to get Sam to find John, only the brother was there, showing the protectiveness of an older brother but nothing more. They’d had to re-forge their relationship, their brotherhood, their friendship. The love Dean had showered him with during his childhood was gone; Dean no longer able to easily express it except in those times of distress and trauma – when Sam was ill or hurt, as if Dean knew he could show it then because sickness and injuries come with a free pass. The chick-flick moments never spoken of again. Sam blames himself for that; his going to Stanford cost Dean a lot more than he’d first realised. And he’d never realised until too late that his having removed himself to college had taken away Dean’s primary purpose for living at the time. When it had come, that realisation had hit him hard.

His brother may not have wanted anything to do with him at the beginning of Sam’s freshman year; ignoring any phone calls, texts and voicemail messages Sam had ever sent during that time, but Sam had kept tabs on his big brother through Uncle Bobby. One of those times that Sam had called the grizzled hunter during Sam’s first four months away, Dean had been there, completely out of it with the flu and suffering hallucinations due to his severe fever. Uncle Bobby had been frazzled, his normal gruff manner worn down into one hell of a shitty mood as he tried to juggle Dean’s wish of staying the hell out of the hospital and knowing it was a growing possibility. And doing all he could to get the ‘stupid idjit’ to stay in bed – because go figure John Winchester was nowhere in sight - and sporting a few bruises for his troubles. Especially for having taken away the Impala’s keys from Dean. You didn’t do that unless you wanted to get punched.

Uncle Bobby had put the phone to Dean’s ear, hoping the sound of Sam’s voice could calm his fevered big brother. It had to a degree. Dean doesn’t remember anything about it (or had blocked it from memory); about begging Sam to come home over that phone; crying for his little brother not to leave him. Sam never brought it up. Uncle Bobby never brought it up (as far as Sam’s aware). But something had broken inside of Sam then; a hollowness flowing through him that not even meeting Jess - and what he’d thought was the start of a life with her - had filled. That hollowness didn’t start to refill until he was once again on the road with his big brother. Sam had stayed on that phone for hours, though he’d wanted to hop a bus and be with his heart-broken big brother – but he’d been beyond dirt-poor at the time (and Dean had yet to teach him how to hotwire a car) - curled up in his own blankets in his draughty dorm room; silent tears trailing down his cheeks as he listened to his brother’s fevered speech. His own heart breaking even more as he listened to his strong big brother pouring out all the hurt he’d obviously kept bottled inside since Sam’s departure, perhaps even before then. But he owed Dean that; he owed Dean everything.

Uncle Bobby had said enough is enough after that. He’d instigated a meeting between Sam and Dean during Christmas. Nothing spectacular. Dean was going to be on his own; John was off on a hunt (Christmas never having any meaning to him after the night Mom died). Sam was going to be on his own. It had been tense, though it had calmed a little after Dean had got done with the whole ‘what the hell’s he doing here’ crap, and Uncle Bobby plainly stating Sam had been invited just as Dean had, and it was Uncle Bobby’s house. And they could both clear their asses out if they didn’t like it. End of.

They’d both stayed.

Sam can still remember getting off the greyhound back at Stanford when Christmas and New Year’s was over. As he’d started heading off in the direction of his campus, he’d heard that familiar purr of the Impala’s engine. A sound he’d know anywhere, even after she’d taken a beating and needed Dean’s loving touch to rebuild her from ground up. Dean had followed behind the bus. Sam had smiled, but hadn’t turned around knowing it was the last thing Dean would want him to acknowledge. Once he’d reached his dorm a text had come through, a brief and simple conversation that would be repeated many times over for the next three years; almost down to the exact same words.

_ ‘All good?’ _

‘Safe & sound. You good? Miss you, bro.’ 

_ ‘Good. Fine. Back attcha.’ _

The last text would always take a good minute to come through, Dean no doubt contemplating each time whether the last part of his response was too chick-flick. Sam was pretty sure you couldn’t get any less chick-flicky than ‘back attcha’. Sam smiles softly, his arms slipping around his brother’s neck without really knowing he’s moving and holds on tight.

“Hey, what’s the matter, bud?” Dean’s voice once again echoes against his ear, arms that were around Sam’s waist rising so they’re hugging him back properly, a hand resting against his hair.      

Sam still hero-worships his big brother – even through everything that has happened between them, Sam hasn’t grown out of that. He has always admired and respected his big brother’s strength even when Dean doubts his own strength and self-worth. Dean has a lot of flaws, he’s made hefty mistakes – just as Sam and Cas undeniably have – and is bound to make mistakes in the future, but yeah, this man holding him on his lap is _still_ Sam’s hero.

A shake of his head is the only response Sam’s able to give to Dean’s question and he buries his face in the crook of his brother’s neck, breathing in the scent he has always associated with Dean; home. He has never told Dean that his true home is wherever _Dean_ is. The Impala and the bunker are just a means of keeping that home close.  

Ah hell, maybe there is something wrong with both of them. Maybe they’ve finally cracked under years of built up pressure.

“Is he alright?” Sam hears Cas ask Dean quietly.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Dean responds, fingers lightly scratching at the back of Sam’s scalp. “Still tired, I guess.”

“So what did Cray have to say?”

Sam shifts slightly to better free up an ear whilst still staying where he is against his brother. He slips his thumb back in his mouth and drops his eyes to half-mast to make it look like he is falling asleep. Perhaps that way Dean and Cas will discuss more about the plans for hunting Rowena – they both seemed a little reluctant to share with him earlier. Something he thinks he should be a little pissed about, but he just can't bring himself to be so right now.  

“He’s had a sighting up in Olympia of a woman matching Rowena’s description,” Dean says. “Right down to the Scottish accent and long red hair. And he heard about another sighting from a hunter he contacted on our behalf. This one further afield in Vancouver.”

“They’re reasonably close together sightings. We should check that area first, Dean.”

Sam feels Dean nod. “Yeah. I’ll put Sammy down for a quick nap while I get him packed.” _Crap, colossal backfire_ , Sam thinks as he feels himself lifted slightly, an arm slipping beneath his butt as Dean stands up. Sam has already automatically wrapped his legs around his brother’s waist before he figures he should’ve let go of the ruse and dropped his legs to the ground and informed his brother he is fully capable of walking – and not taking a nap. But… he’s comfortable. “Be ready to head out in an hour, Cas.”

Cas must have nodded his ascent, because Dean starts walking, carrying Sam out of the kitchen. They reach Sam’s bedroom in no time. Dean doesn’t turn on the overhead light and instead opts for turning on the fifties-style lamp on Sam’s closest nightstand.

Sam is shifted effortlessly so he’s basically lying face-down over Dean’s strong arms and deposited carefully onto his tummy on his hard mattress. He shifts his head on his pillow so he can still breathe properly through his nose and suck his thumb at the same time. He uses his elbow to draw his spare pillow under the arm folded up and attached to his mouth and cuddles it to his side.

“No nap, De,” Sam mumbles around his thumb, already feeling his will to stay awake crumbling as Dean’s fingers scratch gently at his scalp again; a sure-fire way to relax Sam and send him to sleep. That and rubbing his back, which is exactly what Dean’s other hand is doing. It isn’t fair that Dean knows all these tricks, especially when Sam doesn’t want to sleep right now.

“Go to sleep, buddy. I’ll wake you in twenty minutes,” Dean’s voice washes over Sam as he drifts off into sleep.

 

#

 

Dean scrubs a hand down his face as he silently watches his kid sleep. He almost wishes the Mark of Cain is still adorning his arm. That he’s a demon once again; when he hadn’t given a flying-fuck about anything or anyone. Not Sammy. Not Cas. Where he could hide from the gnawing pain eating at his chest and gut. Where Sammy’s life isn’t once again on the line because Dean probably would have already killed him and carried on fucking about as an emotionless demon.

But Dean may be many things, but he isn’t a coward. And it’s the pain that will see them through this. Dean’s pain. Cas’ pain. And they won’t let Sammy feel any more pain because of them, because of these cursed powers. They’ll fix-it; it’s what they do. But their fix-it’ always come with these consequences. This time they need to find a way of doing this that will have no repercussions on Sammy. And preferably not on Cas and Dean either. But if he needs to once again lay his life down for his baby brother, for his kid, Dean will do it in a heartbeat.

Dean rubs Sam’s back lightly as the boy whimpers in his sleep and starts to shift restlessly as if sensing Dean’s thoughts. Sammy quickly settles down after a few passes of Dean’s hand over his back and starts suckling on his thumb again. Dean sighs, he really should get Sammy a pacifier. The thumb-sucking is fast becoming a regular habit. There hasn’t been a night these past two weeks where the kid hasn’t slept with it in his mouth. And during the day the kid no longer cares, nor blushes scarlet with embarrassment, when Cas witnesses him sucking his thumb. Though the latter is the biggest tell-tale sign Dean could have been given that Sammy wholly accepts their former-angel into their little family – even before knowing Dean and Cas are together.

Dean _would_ like to know why exactly Sam has latched back onto this childish comfort though. Sure it’s a comfort his kid has never really given up, having hid it well over the years, but why now has his thirty-two year old Sasquatch of a brother started heavily sucking his thumb again? Not even their dad had known Sam still sucked his thumb past four years old; the age he’d been when John had banned both the kid’s thumb and pacifier. Of course, Sam being the devious little shit that he is had found a way to have both when John wasn’t around – giving the biggest ‘fuck you’ to the man that he could manage at such a young age. Dean probably hadn’t made things any better by going along with Sammy’s obsession to keep his pacifier.

Dean had often wondered if that was where Sammy’s rebellion with John had originated. The kid had always been stubborn, but he had always obeyed Dean’s orders. But then, Dean _knows_ to explain the _why_ to his inquisitive and stubborn baby brother. Sammy isn’t the type to follow if he doesn’t understand why exactly he’s having to do something. Especially if he’s fobbed off with some ridiculous reason. Dean had certainly had to relearn that lesson over the past ten years of their hunting together.

And it’s one of numerous reasons where John had gone wrong with the youngest Winchester. John had always expected to have another Dean. Another soldier who had known how imperative it was to follow his father’s orders on a hunt, especially after the Shtriga incident. But contrary to Sam’s thoughts, outside of hunts Dean hadn’t always been the obedient son. Especially when it came to Sam’s well-being. And his father had eventually learnt how not to overstep his bounds when it came to Dean’s raising Sammy - at least until everything went to shit when Sammy was seventeen. His father had passed Sam to him that night of the fire, and by the time John had realised he had never truly taken his baby boy back from Dean, it was much too late to rectify the situation.          

And Dean wouldn’t have given _his_ baby boy back.

Dean pats his fingers gently against Sam’s back and rises from the edge of the bed, drawing the sheets up over his sleeping kid. His movements are silent as he grabs up Sam’s duffle from the floor and sets it on Sam’s desk. He checks it first, dumping out anything Sam won’t need with him, before he grabs clothing from the closet, and underwear, socks and fresh pj’s (sweats and t-shirt) from the identical five-drawer bureau to Dean’s own. Just enough for four days as always. Rolling it all, Dean dumps it into the bag. He switches off the lamp and leaves Sam’s bedroom, being sure to leave the door ajar. He’ll leave the kid to sleep as long as possible despite what he told Sammy.

He flicks on an extra wall-light in the hallway as he passes it to better illuminate the hall so that it filters better into Sam’s room without being too heavy. The minute Dean had seen the state of the kid’s sheets when he’d walked into Sam’s bedroom after the kitchen sex thing, Dean had known Sammy had woken from a nightmare again, and probably the same one. And Dean once again hadn’t been there to coach Sammy back into the awakening world without a full-blown panic because he was too busy having sex. He shakes his head. He and Cas were idiots for having gotten carried away in the kitchen for the second time in three days. Cas, though, is currently like a horny teenager when he gets going. And Cas is also a hell of a lot for Dean to resist.

Swinging by the bathroom, he grabs out Sam’s toiletries, his own and Cas’. He dumps them all in their separate shower bags, before heading for his own bedroom. “You packed?” he questions seeing Cas rummaging in the far side nightstand drawer - the one he’d designated as Cas’. At some point they’ll move Cas fully into Dean’s room now that Sam knows, but that is honestly the last thing on Dean’s priority list right now.

“Yes. But I can’t find my angel-blade,” Cas says frowning as he straightens from rummaging in drawers.

“Seriously? You lost your angel-blade?” Dean growls dropping Cas’ shower-bag on the wooden chair beside his door with a thud of bottles. “Yours,” he states crossing to dump his on his mattress, along with Sam’s duffle, which he shoves Sam’s shower-bag inside and zips it up. “Where the hell did you last see it?”

“I thought I put it in the top drawer here,” Cas replies apologetically, “but I’ve checked all of yours and mine.”

“Cas, it’s a fucking weapon, man! A powerful one. You don’t leave a fucking weapon like that just lying around, especially in this house! You secure weapons as I told you.” Dean gestures his hand at his own weapons adorning his wall. “Even if that’s just on the fucking wall. At least then you know exactly where to fucking find ‘em.”

“I know, Dean! Okay. I know.”

Dean sighs, knowing he shouldn’t have blown up at Cas like that. But the thought of a weapon as powerful as an angel blade being left around for Sammy to pick up and play with – Dean slams the brakes on his train of thought. What the fuck? Where the hell did that come from? Sammy has been using weapons and has been proficient in the handling of those weapons for years now. Hell, the kid doesn’t leave the bunker without several knives and guns concealed on his person. They are at times the only defence either of them has, along with their fists and feet, sometimes their entire bodies. Dean doesn’t think there will ever be a day the rule of having at least one to two weapons on you outside the safety of the bunker and motels they stay at (once the place is secured) will not apply to Sammy.

So why is Dean suddenly so afraid Sammy could hurt himself because of one of them?

“Dean?”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“You’ve paled drastically,” Cas states now standing almost chest to chest with him, concern filling the sharp blue-eyes, hands clutching Dean’s upper arms. “Are you well? Is it the powers? Are they effecting you after all? Could we be wrong in our theory?”

Oh god, does he wish they’re wrong. But it isn’t the powers, it’s… fuck, Dean runs a hand through his hair. He has no idea what the hell this is.  

And suddenly Dean is furious. He just doesn't know who he’s furious at.

At Sammy for performing the spell. 

At Cas for agreeing.

At himself for taking on the Mark in the first place and bringing this all down on their heads.

Or for stupidly believing that these powers could be helpful to them in their cases.

Powers that are slowly destroying Sam from the inside out; Dean and Cas the catalysts of his destruction. Dean once again a fucking huge threat to his baby brother’s life. The universe obviously not satisfied with what Dean had tried to do to his little boy under the Mark's influence.

If he was smart he'd remove himself and Cas as far away from Sammy as possible; leave his kid in the protection of the bunkers dozen or so wards and disappear until they can get this sorted out.

But when has his and Sammy's ditching each other ever proved the right course of action?

And leaving Sammy by himself… hell no, that’s not an option. Sammy would leave the bunker eventually and there are just too many fugly's out there who would be more than willing to get their hands on Sam Winchester. Especially if it’s known Dean isn't watching his back. And Sammy can find trouble in a locked room, who knows what the kid could stumble upon in the bunker by himself.

No. Leaving Sammy isn't an option. Now or ever.

Dean and Cas just have to ensure they don't use these powers again.

Sammy will be okay.

They’re gonna fix it.

They don’t have any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a wee one guys. It wasn’t meant to be the entirety of the chapter, but when I realised it was pushing 30,000 words (oops!), I knew I had to split it up and this is the result. I’m really hoping it doesn’t suck too much because of it, and that it still flows. But, hey, good news, at least the majority of Chapter 9 is written. Woohoo! :)
> 
> For ereynolds and Deadmockingbirds who have shown me support and encouragement throughout this story. You’re both amazing! XOXO
> 
> Once again a resounding thank you to all who have left comments, kudos and bookmarked this story. I'm truly amazed by the response this story has received. You guys are awesome!! You feed me fuel and inspire me to continue to write this. Keep it up, please.

Disorientation greets Sam as he slowly awakens to the knowledge he no longer resides in his bed. He has a brief moment of panic before the familiar scent of leather wafts up from under his nose upon his next inhale and Sam’s bewilderment immediately fades with the realisation that he is lying on the backseat of the Impala. He can feel the accustomed rumble beneath him and hear the recognisable purr of the car’s engine. There’s a pillow bunched under his head and squished against the door. His long legs are curled up on the seat and a blanket covers him.

He cracks open his eyes to the familiar outline of Dean before him in the front seat, Cas occupying the passenger side of the bench seat, their voices drifting over Sam’s still sleep-fogged mind. Sam shifts slightly to relieve an ache in his side, his eyes drifting closed once again as he slips his thumb in his mouth, knowing he’s safe.    

 

**#SPN#**

 

Glancing briefly in his rear-view mirror Dean’s lips curl up briefly, pleased to see Sammy’s fallen back to sleep. The kid needs it. Which is evidenced by the fact Dean had managed to carry his kid through several floors of the bunker, up the stairs to the garage, and situate him comfortably on the Impala’s backseat without Sammy once stirring. It’s a sure sign that Sam’s body has long sailed passed exhaustion and is only running on empty. Because Sammy usually would have at least stirred and then gone straight back off to sleep again; unless something interesting or life-threatening was happening around him that required his immediate attention. 

Righting his rear-view mirror back to its usual position, Dean drops his hand to his chest, digging his hand beneath the neck of his t-shirt to scratch at an itch that has been irritating him for at least fifteen minutes now. Blessed relief from the annoyance encompasses him as his short fingernails scratch over it. Withdrawing his fingers, they brush over his tattoo on the way out and he’s reminded of the area of country they’re headed to. Dropping his hand back down to the wheel, he isn’t sure how long they’ll be in Washington State for, but it’ll be the perfect time to get it done. Considering there’s no telling when a job will take them back.  

Glancing beside him, Cas has been quiet since they left the bunker; his newly human partner has barely moved in fact. Once again releasing one hand from the wheel, Dean reaches over and places his hand on Cas’ thigh, giving a squeeze of his fingers. Cas blinks awake from wherever he had zoned off to and turns his head to look at Dean, offering a smile. Cas’ hand covers Dean’s on his thigh before glancing over his shoulder at Sam’s sleeping form.

“Is something wrong?” Cas queries, lowering his usual gravel tone a little as not to wake their sleeping boy, fingers lightly squeezing Dean’s.

“That’s what I was gonna ask you, man. You okay?”

“Yes,” Cas nods, though to Dean’s ears his partner doesn’t sound as if he agrees with himself.

“You sure?” Cas nods again, though Dean’s not sure he believes him, but it will hold for a minute. “Quick question for you, Cas. Any chance you might be afraid of needles?”

“I find it doubtful that I would be, Dean.” Dean can hear the frown in Cas’ voice. “Though I have yet to have the pleasure or displeasure of being at the end of one. Is it something I _should_ be afraid of?”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “They’re irritating at most. But people do fear them. Sammy does.”

“Why would Sam fear something so small?”

Dean snorts softly, “Cas, that’s like asking why anybody fears anything.” He shrugs. “I haven’t a clue." Though he does have a fairly good idea that it stems from John carelessly shoving a toddler Sammy over onto his stomach for a hick doctor to stick a shot in his butt that one time. Dean’s fingers twist against the steering wheel just thinking about it. If only his dad had just let Dean calm his baby brother down first, Sammy’s fear of needles might have been avoided. He was a freaking baby! But even then all John wanted was for Sam to toughen up; to ‘suck it up, soldier!’ Dean shakes his head, loosening his fingers from there taut hold as he shoves the memory away. “Sammy’s just never liked the things. Getting him to take a shot is a pain in the ass, sometimes literally. Just don’t make a big deal of it if it comes up.”

Cas nods. “So why are you asking if I might fear them?”

“Because you’re human now. And unless you wanna find out what it’s like to get possessed by a demon, you need to get inked up.” Dean withdraws his hand from Cas’ thigh to pat his fingers against the area of his tattoo before returning his hand to the wheel.

Cas’ frown seeps into understanding. “That would be sensible. Is there somewhere specific I’d need to go to get it done?”

“Nah. Any tattooist worth a grain of salt can get it done, you just have to give the artist the design. But the best place to get it done is in Seattle. At least, it’s the only place I can get Sam’s redone.”

Ever since he had ordered Cas to burn the tattoo from Sam’s chest, Dean’s guilt as well as the Mark of Cain and his knowledge of how much Sammy hates needles has kept him from actively pushing for Sam to get re-inked. Even knowing how much of a risk no longer having an anti-possession tattoo presents to his baby brother. But getting Sam in the tattoo parlour the first time around had been hard enough and that was coming out the back end of a demonic possession by that bitch Meg. Dean just hadn’t felt he had the right to demand that of his kid over the past two years, and he knows full well Sam’s procrastinated the entire time. They’ve managed to be extremely lucky so far. But now Dean’s pushing. Sammy will be getting it done even if Dean has to sit on the Sasquatch to hold him down. And this time Sammy will have an added protection; one ingredient that can be added to the ink to further protect Sammy from possession. Something they hadn’t been aware of the first time around but Dean recently found upon a little research. That’s why they need to hit Seattle. Dean trusts only Tom Jeffries to get it done properly.  

“I figure since we’re in the area we can kill two birds with one stone.”

“That will be fine, Dean.”

Dean frowns. Cas is speaking a little too formally for Dean’s liking, something he’s noticed Cas does when tension is creeping in. And that minute of holding off is gone. He wants to know what’s going on with his partner. “All right, Cas, something’s bothering you. What is it?”

“I…” a loud sigh, and Dean glances over. Cas’ forehead is ridged with deep frown lines. “What happened earlier, Dean?”

There’s a turn coming up they need to take and Dean keeps his eyes on the road as he waits for more to be incoming but Cas doesn’t continue. “You wanna give me a little something more specific, Cas? Cause a lot happened earlier.”

“When I was searching for my angel blade. You were angry, distant …”

Yeah, Dean had been angry. Weapons are kept in immaculate condition and kept track of. The importance of that was one of the first things Dean had been taught by John, and Dean had taught Sam in turn. Now he’s teaching Cas, who should already know to keep track of his own angelic weapon; Cas isn’t a novice where that blade is concerned. And Dean doesn’t give a shit if they’re only in the bunker; knowing where your weapons are can save your life. Thankfully Cas had soon found it underneath Dean’s bed.

“Yeah and I told you why …”

“No,” Cas interrupts, “I mean, you were angry about my losing the blade, and rightfully so. But then you… froze. It’s been running through my mind but I cannot figure it out. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Dean immediately responds, maybe a little too quickly to put Cas’ mind at ease.

“Dean.”

“Cas, it was ridiculous, okay,” Dean shakes his head. “Just a stupid thought that had no basis for being in my head to begin with,” he laughs a little nervously. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He’s been trying to shove it to the back of his mind since that thought crept in. “It’s not something that needs talking about, Cas.”

“So why have you been grinding your hands against the steering wheel since you started driving?”

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean hisses, his palm hitting the steering wheel with a dull thud. God, why does he have to have the unfortunate pleasure of having both a baby brother and a partner who want to talk things out all the fucking time? Why can’t things just be left alone? “Why don’t you tell me what was going through _your_ head when you were frantically looking for the fucking thing, huh?!”

“Dean…” Cas’ voice is quiet, but firm, “… don’t shut me out. I know you’re not one for talking, but I refuse to spend our entire relationship waiting for either one or both of us to blow up because we cannot talk it through. We’re in this together, remember.”

Fuck. There goes Cas pulling a Sammy on him. Dean needs to remember not to let the two of them team up against him. He squirms in his seat, wanting nothing more than to tell Cas they’re not doing this, but fuck… Cas is right. Christ, it’s not like he never talks about issues or whatever. He’s had to initiate more than one with Sammy when the kid’s taking a page out of Dean’s book for too long. And didn’t he just initiate one with Cas? So yeah he’ll talk. He’ll hash things out. But only because it’s usually on _his_ terms. He’s told Cas he’ll do his best to try and start talking things through with him, but Cas has to know Dean just can’t always do that. He isn’t built that way.

Dean sighs, releasing the wheel to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember, Cas. Just… seriously, I do want to know what you were thinking then as well, because …”

“You want to know if there’s any correlation,” Cas points out.

Dean nods, flicking a glance at Cas. “I don’t know how there could be, but… yeah. I mean you were looking for the blade a little more frantically than just being worried about my reaction …”

“I _was_ worried about your reaction. I know how you feel about weapons and you were right to be angry with me. However… my main concern lay… lay with Sam, that he could hurt himself if he found it,” Cas chuckles humourlessly. “Which is clearly absurd.”  

“Right. Absolutely. Total absurdness,” Dean agrees quickly with a quick grim snort of his own, because nothing about this currently calls for humour. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him as he resolutely stares at the road.

“Except… that… you…” Cas trails off.

Dean’s shoulders slump. “Yeah. Pretty much,” he admits, running a hand over his hair again, a growl of frustration rumbling from his throat. “I don't understand any of this, Cas. We're both clearly connected to Sammy, more so than ever before, because how else could our power use effect the kid, but this… _What_ is this? Protectiveness kicked into super-drive? I mean… What the hell? I can't… WE can't protect him like this if we don't know what's going on in our own heads. I mean… do you even know where that thought sprung up from? And a shared one at that. Because I definitely don’t.”

“I don’t necessarily believe it was shared, though it certainly seems similar. Have you never before thought about how Sam’s own weapons could hurt him, Dean?”

“Of course I have.” _And then I usually shove it to the very far recesses of my mind_. “But it’s a necessity we can’t get away from. Sammy’s a hunter. Hunting comes with the use of weapons, Cas. So what do we do?”

Cas sighs, “I am unable to offer you answers that I'm seeking too, Dean. And I abhor that. All we truly know is that Sam performed the spell. And when he performed it he became a sort of conduit to the spell's power …”

“What are you trying to get at, Cas?” Dean questions when Cas trails off again.

“I don't know.” Cas suddenly smacks his fists against the dash in front of him in pure frustration, rattling the frame. “ _I don't know!_ ”

“Hey, watch it, Cas! Don’t take it out on Baby!” Dean glances quickly in the rear-view mirror hoping the noise hasn’t woken his baby brother.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake him?” Cas quickly peers over his shoulder into the back.

“No.” The kid thankfully is still sleeping on, suckling his thumb. “Luckily.”

“That’s good. He needs as much rest as he can get.”

“Yeah, he does. If you’ve dented my dash, man …”

“I know. You’ll kill me.”

“Damn straight.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam wakes with a jolt, realising he’s still curled up on the backseat of the Impala. The car is no longer in motion, though the engine still runs. Dropping his legs off the seat and into the footwell, he sits up, the blanket slipping off his shoulder and pooling in his lap. Sam leans forwards with a groan, dropping his forehead to rest atop the front seat’s backrest. A hand ruffles over his hair before dropping down to give his neck a squeeze before the hand moves away.

“Where’re we?” he mumbles around his thumb.

“At the store,” Dean responds shutting off the engine.

Sam blinks at the lack of pertinent information in his brother’s words. ‘At the store’ could mean they’re still in Lebanon, or the next town over. In fact, they could be anywhere. But Sam does have a hunch he knows what store Dean’s referring to. And as Sam pushes himself upright from his slouched position, letting his thumb slip from between his lips as he takes a moment to orient himself to their surroundings, he’s proved right.

Looking out the window he can see Dean’s pulled into the parking lot belonging to the huge building he can only partially see out of his window due to its vastness. It’s the massive twenty-four-seven supermarket Dean likes only for its stock of large bags of rock-salt; his brother willing to travel the two hour journey from Lebanon just for that purchase alone. Considering Dean’s hatred for these multi-purpose “demonic” stores that sell everything under the sun you’d think the rock-salt comes packaged in gold. But nope. Just larger bags then they can normally purchase elsewhere.

It also means Sam’s been asleep for around two hours and not the freaking twenty minutes Dean had promised to wake him from his nap. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes he turns an accusing look at the back of his brother’s head.

“You said you were gonna wake me after twenty minutes, Dean, not leave me sleeping for hours.”

Dean turns to look over his shoulder at him. “You obviously still needed the sleep, Sammy. So quit your whining.”

“I’m not …” Sam cuts himself off and takes a breath, running his hands through his hair. He doesn’t want to debate with his brother about this right now. “So what are we doing here? Thought we already have a good stock of rock-salt,” he comments. The last time he’d checked several weeks back, they had fifteen of the larger size bags in the bunker. They usually fill up several smaller bags to keep in the car for jobs.

“We need supplies. This place is easiest.”

Again, Sam waits for more but nothing is forthcoming. He shrugs. He’ll figure it out when they’re in the store and getting the supplies. Pushing the blanket from his lap, Sam swings open his door and slips out from the backseat, closing the door behind him. He leans back against the impala, waiting for his legs to wake up properly. Along with the rest of him. He'd have thought walking thirty odd miles would have boosted his energy back to a reasonable level but Sam still feels bone-weary. Getting out of the car into the fresh air seems only to have zapped what little energy he had awoken with. He feels as if he could easily crawl back under the blanket and sleep another day away. But he'd slept enough. It's not fair to Dean and Cas to have to keep carrying his weight, both literally and figuratively. They have enough to worry about without having to be concerned if Sam's fully fit enough to go on this hunt for Rowena. She's potentially the only witch in existence who could give them some insight into the spell Sam used to cure Dean. Beyond what Sam's research, on top of more research, has already thrown up. A little exhaustion can't get in the way of that.

He is drawn from his thoughts at the familiar squeak belonging to the passenger door; the subtlest difference he can detect in the sound that doesn’t belong to Dean’s side. Sam offers a quick smile to Cas as the former-angel steps out from the front seat, pushing the door closed behind him; the squeak evident once more in closing.

“I think my butt’s gone to sleep,” Cas states, before frowning. “Is that the accurate saying, Sam?”

Sam chuckles lightly. “Yeah, Cas,” he responds, brushing back some hair from his eyes. “Bet’cha wishing you could just zap yourself around right about now, huh?” Sam feels a twinge of guilt in his gut knowing he’s the reason Cas can no longer use that ability.

Surprisingly, Cas shakes his head. “Not especially. I have grown accustomed to being in a car for long journeys, so I don’t find it as much of a hindrance as I used to. Hopefully I can secure a vehicle of my own again soon,” Cas frowns through the passenger window at Dean who’s still behind the wheel but now on his phone. “Seen as mine has mysteriously disappeared.” Sam has no doubts the former-angel knows exactly what Dean has done with that car. And maybe one day Sam will ask Cas if there’s actually a car heaven. He snickers inwardly. “Driving with company is much more enjoyable though,” Cas continues. “And Dean’s music is pleasant.”

Oh god. Dean is rubbing off a little too much on their former-angel if Cas is starting to enjoy Dean’s mullet rock. Sam certainly isn’t telling anyone he secretly enjoys it as well; it always brings out the lighter side of his big brother, the side of Dean that sings along badly to the lyrics no matter who’s listening.

“Well, if we haven’t got stuck in traffic yet, it’ll be a new experience for you, Cas,” Sam chuckles. “Dean’s like a bear with a sore head when that happens. Just have to make sure he doesn’t have any beverages he can chuck at other people’s windshields.”

“I’ll take that under advisement. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam snickers at the amusement in Cas’ tone, before he has to hide a yawn behind his hand.

"Still tired?"

Sam shakes his head. "Nah, just haven't woken fully yet." _Something a good dose of caffeine would normally help me with_ , he thinks, wondering if he can chance asking Dean to once again change his mind on that score. He shakes his head after a moment’s contemplation. Dean's made it pretty clear he isn't going to budge on that issue and Sam really doesn't feel like arguing when he's not going to win. Especially when it takes up too much energy. He won't give up on the issue though; he'll have his caffeine back eventually.

Cas buys Sam's little white lie easier than Dean would have. Fortunately, his brother has still yet to venture out of the car. Sam raps a knuckle on the passenger window.

"He's speaking on the phone, Sam," Cas chastens lightly.

"So?” Sam grumbles. “I'm pretty sure Dean's mastered the art of walking and talking at the same time, Cas. He's the one that wants to be in and out of here,” Sam gestures towards the store.

The driver’s door opens, Dean finally stepping out, phone still attached to his ear. He throws an annoyed look at Sam, who shrugs back innocently. “Yeah, got it. Thanks Mike.” Dean hangs up, pocketing his phone, before leaning his forearms on the Impala’s roof to address Sam and Cas. “So, seems Mike ran into our resident witch five days ago in Missoula, Montana.”

“That’s before both the sightings in Olympia and Vancouver,” Cas points out.

Dean nods. “Mike just got my message after getting out the hospital with a busted leg. No thanks to Rowena. She ruined his hunt and Mike ended up exorcising a demon chasing after her. Course he didn’t know she’s a witch.”

Sam frowns, listening, his mind working to pull information together. “Huh,” he intones a moment later. Dean and Cas stare at him in expectation of some elaboration. Sam provides it. “I have to give it to her, Rowena’s smart if she’s doing what I think she’s doing.”

“Care to share?”

“Well how many hunters do we know that are experienced enough to actually exorcise a demon, Dean?”

“Outside of us… probably a dozen or so.”

"And Crowley has demons riding Rowena's ass,” Sam says, keeping his voice low, mindful of the shoppers going to and from their cars. “He's a witch's son. By now he's gotta have figured out a way to counteract Rowena's spell to gank demons. And without that ..."

"It makes her fairly powerless against them,” Cas comments.

Dean frowns. “You think she’s purposefully running them into hunters."

Sam nods. "At a guess, yeah. I mean, I honestly can't see any other reason why there's been three sightings of her in five days. She’s been around a long time, she knows how to stay off radar."

"Except Crowley's demons are expendable to him," Cas remarks. "He'll just throw more her way."

"Not if he wants to keep his crown," Dean states. "We know he’s been on shaky ground for a while now. And as much as I'd love nothing more than to see Crowley overthrown..."

"And dead. So very dead," Sam interjects, tone hard.

"Yes, Sammy, that too,” Dean placates. “He also has his uses on that seat. Neither do we wanna have to contend with other demons trying to win points in a demonic showdown for it."

“That'd be the last thing we need,” Cas shakes his head. “Will this be changing our course?”

“Nah, we’ll stick to heading for Olympia.” Dean withdraws his arms from the roof and throws a disgusted look at the building they’re about to descend on. “All right, let’s go. I’d like to get in and out of this place sometime today.”

Sam smirks over his shoulder at Cas who shakes his head with a roll of his eyes. The pair of them join Dean as he rounds the car, heading towards the cart station at the front of the store.

“Mike doing alright?” Sam questions.

"Yeah. Aside from being pissed when he recognised the description of Rowena from my message.” Dean grabs a shallow-basket shopping cart. “Sent a pal of his to check out the place she was staying."

"Let me guess. Rowena already booked."

"Without a single thanks for a job well done. It's just plain rude, Sammy.” Sam snorts, jumping out of the way of a motorised scooter before it smacks him in the legs, the elderly driver thinking she’s on a racetrack. “Hey, lady! Foot traffic here!” Dean barks after her, eyebrows shooting upwards as the woman raises a hand and gives him the finger.

Sam laughs with a clap of his hands, only laughing more at his brother’s mutterings about demonic elderly bitches. Until Dean cuffs him upside the head. “Cas, Dean hit me!” Sam pouts, his chuckles tapering off slowly as he rubs at the spot. It hadn't actually hurt.

“Snitch."

Cas rolls his eyes and heads through the stores entrance doors, leaving the brothers' to follow.

Once inside Sam shoots off to the restroom to relieve himself. On his return Dean is alone, standing in front of a small display of US maps, his brother flicking through the one in his hands. Sam’s pretty sure Dean will never invest in a GPS system for the Impala; the man wouldn’t even let Sam plug in an iPod jack. Thankfully Sam has a route app on his phone but he can’t always get a good enough Wi-Fi signal on the road for it to work. Plus it plots out more direct routes from point A to B that takes them on roads Dean more often than not doesn’t like to use. Dean’s preference lies in the backroads that are not heavy with congestion. As does Sam’s; he’d rather his brother not get arrested for being pissed at commuters clogging his path.

Dean looks up as he approaches, dumping the map in the cart and grasps the handle. Dean pats the metal with his hand and Sam steps up next to the cart, on the right of his brother and sets his hand on the side of the cart.

“Good boy,” Dean nods approvingly, the miniscule relaxing of his shoulders missed by everyone but Sam.  

A grown man keeping his hand on the cart when someone else is pushing it is no doubt unusual, but for them it’s just routine and instinctual. Dean pushes the cart, Sam keeps his hand on the side. They have to have one place outside of the bunker where they know exactly where the other is – with no monster being able to snatch the other away without being seen. They need to be able to be normal in doing their freaking grocery run, more so since having that permanent base that they can fill up on full loads once a month. A run that can take several arduous and hateful hours of navigating aisles and people and those miniature people known as screaming children demanding a new toy or candy. And his brother is far more relaxed when Sam’s hand is attached to the cart, where Dean knows exactly where Sam is, and Sam’s willing to give that to Dean. Because he’s just as happy knowing where his big brother is as well.  

“Where’s Cas?” he questions while Dean steers them towards the aisles.

“Upstairs. He needs clothes.”

“Was wondering if you were gonna take him to get new clothes at some point,” Sam comments, knowing Cas has been living in some of Dean’s old garments and some of Sam’s smaller ones as well.

“Not like we’ve had the time, Sam. Hopefully he’ll be quick. We got a witch to hunt.” Dean turns the cart right.

“Does he even know what he likes? I mean, aside from a trench coat and a blue suit and tie he’s lived in for like eight years.”

“No idea. That’s why he’s up there on his own. You or me go up with him we’ll be unknowingly shoving our style onto him.” Dean gives a hapless shrug. “He’ll figure it out. Now we need the necessities; car oil, baby wipes, crackers and 7up case you get sick again …”

“Not gonna happen,” Sam interjects stubbornly.

Dean ignores him, carrying on with his memorised list. “… Children’s Tylenol and one of those spoon thingy’s with the tube attached for the medicine to go in.”

“Those things are for babies and kids, Dean,” Sam grumbles as they turn down the health aisle. “I’m neither. Just get a regular spoon.”

“Would you rather I pour purple medicine all over you if I need to give you this crap in the car?” Dean gives the box containing the grape flavoured Children’s Tylenol he’s just picked up off the shelf a shake in Sam’s face.

Sam narrows his eyes, pushing the box out of his face. Of course he doesn’t want that crap all over him; it’s sticky and gross, and he has no further intention of needing the stuff in the first place. Unfortunately, he also knows that’s a pipe dream. He always ends up hurt somehow and as macho as he would like to be, sometimes painkiller is necessary and vital to the healing process. And as Dean has so plainly expressed, the purple stuff is all the painkiller Sam’s getting for the foreseeable future.

"I can do it myself, Dean," he points out.

"I know, Sammy. But there are times you can't dose yourself," Dean responds plainly, knowingly.

And Sam begrudgingly has to admit his brother is right. The majority of the headaches he's suffered recently since that first one hit him the day after performing the spell have been near debilitating. The really severe ones that had left Sam with little choice but to be laid up in bed - generally with Dean's full endorsement - Dean had had to dose him with the pain meds because Sam had barely been able to lift his head from the pillow to do it himself. And now knowing the cause of the headaches doesn't stop Sam from remembering how useless he'd felt and how much it had reminded him of the last few weeks of the demon trials. He'd been able to push through the pain then and he's determined to do so again if he's hit with another headache. Though that shouldn't be a problem now with Dean and Cas refraining from using their powers. And if they at all slip up, then… well, Sam will be unconscious and won't have to worry about the headache until he wakes again anyway.

It still doesn’t mean he needs a medicine spoon.

But Dean gives him a challenging look, one Sam is not willing to back down from. Unconsciously flexing his shoulders, Sam crosses to the display of medicine spoons. He grabs a pack of three green-coloured but see-through spoons that are on offer and tosses the package into the cart, throwing his brother a ‘you happy now’ look while he’s at it.

Dean smirks, most assuredly happy with his win, and picks up another bottle of Children’s Tylenol, setting both in the cart beside the spoons. He picks up two packets of normal painkillers and hopefully they’ll have time while they’re here to swing by the pharmacy to get some more, plus some stronger ones. The far stronger controlled-drug painkillers they can’t purchase over the counter will have to be acquired by other not so decent means.

Sam smothers a yawn behind his hand as he watches Dean dump several first aid supplies in the cart to replenish their kit; antiseptic ointment, burn ointment, Band-Aid’s, bandages, antiseptic wipes, two thermometers…

“You already got a thermometer,” Sam states, remembering the blue and white thermometer Dean tried using on him back during the demon trials. And probably did use, seen as Sam remembers his brother telling him he had a temperature of one-oh-seven at the time.

“That thing crapped out when I tried taking your temp back when you collapsed and I had to shove you in an ice bath, Sammy.”

Sam tilts his head, glancing down at the thermometers. One of them is identical to the digital one Dean had before but the other one… Sam’s eyes widen as he reads the label and he snatches the thing out of the cart. He shoves it away onto the nearest shelf where it can stay for all eternity as far as he’s concerned. Dean looks at him unamused, reaching around Sam to grab the thermometer and throws it back in the cart. Sam moves to grab it again when a hand lands against his bum. Just a pat of fingers really. But a reminder nonetheless of how Dean has no qualms about swatting him in a public place if he feels it necessary to correct Sam’s behaviour there and then. Sam likes to avoid that outcome like the plague and he jerks his hand away from the thermometer. He glares at his brother, feeling the slight flush spread across his cheeks.

Dean glares right back, grabbing him by the arm and Sam has to still himself from covering his bottom. “I’m not gonna get caught short in taking your temperature again just because you don’t like where the damn thing’s gonna have to go, Sam,” Dean hisses in his ear, low enough so no one else can hear. “And it ain’t my fault that your bottom’s the only place to get your temperature without frying thermometers left, right and centre.”

Sam stares at his brother wide-eyed, the heat in his cheeks intensifying. He can’t quite believe they’re talking about this embarrassing topic in the middle of the health aisle. He’d rather _never_ talk about it anywhere.

“I know you hate it, alright. I’ve spent years having to do it to you, Sammy,” Dean adds shaking his head with a sigh, thinking back to the last time he’d had to take his kid’s temperature – or tried to.

Sammy had kicked up a stink in the bunker when Dean had moved to set the thermometer in the kid’s mouth. And later at that hotel where they’d found Metatron – and fuck they should have left that dick where they found him or shoved an angel blade in his gut there and then – and Dean had returned to find his baby brother unconscious on the floor and running as hot as a furnace. The thermometer had spiked all over the show, same when shoving it under the kid’s arm. And when he’d stuck the ear thermometer in his kid’s ear. So sue him for having purchased more than the one type of thermometer than Sam had been aware of. He knows what Sammy’s body is like. It gives out crap readings. And blows up thermometers when it doesn’t want to cooperate. Always has. So Dean had had to resort to the only way left – the only way to accurately get a temperature reading from Sam’s body.

Something Dean had only learned upon a three-year-old Sammy suffering a severe case of chicken pox and scaring the shit out of his big brother. The doctors and nurses had put it down to the electrical current in Sammy’s body running higher than normal and messing with the readings. But with all they’ve learned since, Dean has to wonder if the demon blood played a role in it. Sam’s body hasn’t really changed all that much over the years, but it does allow for temperature taking in more normal fashion on sporadic occasions, hence the gamut of thermometers. Of course, Dean hadn’t mentioned how exactly he’d determined the one-oh-seven temperature back at that hotel, just let his baby brother believe what he wanted.

“If you don’t think I’m willing to do whatever is necessary or have a contingency plan for practically everything where you’re concerned, kid, you don’t know me very well.” Dean releases his hold on his brother and stalks away with the cart, his movements dislodging Sam’s hold on the metal frame. He knows he should have grabbed a new ear thermometer, and another normal digital one to use for the armpit, but he’s too annoyed to walk back down that aisle now.

Sam swallows heavily as he stares after Dean. He is more than aware of what Dean is willing to do for him. What his brother _already_ does do for him. But something like this is more than difficult to accept, even when it’s always been a known part of his life. Because as much as he’s aware his health is more important than his pride, it is another thing that sets Sam apart; that makes Sam feel _different_. But it _shouldn’t_ , not when it’s such a stupid little thing in the grand scheme of things. When it’s something Dean’s never teased him for, but has always done what’s needed for Sam.

Sighing, Sam shakes his head, realising his hand is still hovering in mid-air from where it was dislodged from the cart and quickly drops it to his side. Dean has stopped at the top of the aisle, not looking back at Sam, but simply waiting. Sam snags a couple more packages off the shelf before jogging to his brother.  

"I think we should test out the normal ways again,” Sam suggests quietly, keeping his tone conversational as he sets the ear and digital thermometers into the cart. He sets his hand on the cart and Dean starts off again. “I mean, how do we know it wasn't the demon blood causing havoc with the thermometers all this time?” He says, unknowingly voicing Dean’s thought. “We can at least try it, Dean, and you can take the cost of the busted thermometers, if they do break, out of my allowance."

Dean raises an eyebrow at him, "Well you definitely wanna try it if you’re willing to lose more than a week’s worth of your allowance on this. All right, Sammy. We'll try. But if it doesn't work and they still crap out..."

"Don't kick up a stink next time I need my temp taken, I know.”

“Good.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it though."

“Wouldn’t expect you to, kiddo. Grab that,” Dean points to a discounted pack of six 7Up bottles. Sam does as instructed and sets it in the cart. A crate of beer and water follows. “Anything else you want on top of the necessities?” Dean questions, scooting them down the rock-salt aisle and snatching up four bags.  

“Candy,” Sam offers a grin. He may like his health foods, but he does have a sweet tooth and where his brother will go for anything involving pie, Sam will choose candy over any dessert any day.

“Fine,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Candy. But don’t even think about getting anything sticky this time.”

Sam rolls his own eyes, grabbing up two cans of car oil and setting them in the cart before placing his hand back on the side. “That wasn’t me last time. That was you.”

“You wish, Sammy,” Dean snorts. “M&M’s don’t make that kinda mess.”

And of course M&M’s are pretty much all the candy Dean eats. Which places the blame solely at Sam’s feet whenever there’s a mess on the seats or floor that doesn’t consist of chocolate or candy shells.

Reaching the candy aisle, Sam knows what he wants and his eyes travel over the shelves in search of any type of Gummi. If he can play his cards right Dean will have moved off further down the aisle and Sam can sneak a couple bags into the cart before his big brother notices. Because there's no way Dean will let him have Gummi’s in the car ever again. Even though it wasn't Sam's fault an open packet was left on the dash on one of the hottest days of the year and they kind of melted back into a blob of sticky, runny mess. Which Sam had tried to hurriedly clean up before his brother returned to the car, but had only ended up with sticky fingers that somehow touched too many areas surrounding the passenger seat which of course was when Dean got in the car. And too observant where both his car and baby brother are involved, Dean had immediately noticed the sheen of sticky patches of smeared fingerprints on the dash first and then the leather seat. Not for the first time had Sam ridden home in the backseat. Glancing toward his brother out the corner of his eye, the man is already halfway down the aisle.

"Hey, Dean, can we get some chips too?" Sam asks, hoping to turn Dean's attention to the other side of the aisle.

He succeeds, Dean shrugging one shoulder as he crosses over to the share bags of chips and leaves the cart where it is. Just as Sam was hoping. Sam snatches up three bags of _Gummi’s_ , two _Bears_ and one _Worms_ , and takes a silent step towards the lone cart before his brother’s voice stops him in his tracks.

"Put 'em back, Sam."

The words are casual, his brother still facing away from Sam, still assessing the chips. Sam freezes in the middle of the aisle, torn between what to do. There are only two more steps between Sam and the cart, but now Dean will be looking for any candy Sam stashes in there. Or he can tell his brother to go stuff it and he's getting whatever candy he wants anyway. Because he can do that, he’s a grown up. Unfortunately, Sam's pretty sure the swat he was threatened with in the health aisle will become a reality in the candy aisle if he does that.

Dean turns before his mind is made up, three share bags of chips in his hand, and arch’s an eyebrow, almost daring Sam to do it. As if he knows what Sam's thinking. 

Sam only just manages to catch himself in time from picking his foot up and stomping it back on the floor like a two-year-old not getting their own way. He quickly turns back to the shelf and stuffs the Gummi's back where he got them. He picks up two bags of _Jolly Ranchers_ instead, one hard bag and one chew, and each a mix of different flavours. Behind Gummi’s, they’re his favourite. He takes them to Dean and presents them to his brother, shaking them exaggeratedly in his hands.

Dean's eyes rove over the front of each packet, clearly checking neither will make a mess of his car, before he nods in approval. “Dump ‘em in,” he says, picking up a couple bags of peanut M&M’s for himself.

“I’m guessing this is for Cas seen as neither of us like it,” Sam states, nose scrunched up in distaste as he picks up a bag of peanut brittle from within the cart.

“It’s weird, I know. But he loves the stuff,” Dean huffs a mock put-upon sigh.

Sam smiles, sticking the bag back in the cart and places his hand back on the side. “So, are we done yet?” he questions, scrubbing at an eye with his free hand before hiding a yawn behind the back of the same hand. God, he’s only been awake for, he glances down at his watch, just over thirty-five minutes. Jeez, this exhaustion is becoming exhausting.

“One more stop, kiddo, then we’ll go find out if Cas has gotten lost.” Dean glances up at the mezzanine floor. Sam hides a tired smile. Its clear Dean wants to be upstairs helping out his boyfriend, who is no doubt slightly lost amongst the selection of clothing on offer. And Dean _hates_ clothes shopping and only does it when it becomes necessary. Like one more tear from falling apart necessary.  

"Go grab the wipes," Dean instructs, gesturing down to the other end of the baby aisle. Sam sets off at a slow jog in the hopes the slight exercise might wake him up. He also knows his brother’s patience is starting to wear thin with this whole shopping escapade, especially with two crying babies now in his vicinity. "Two packs!" He hears Dean call down to him. "And green not yellow!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam mumbles, bringing his jog to a stop in front of the numerous range of baby wipe brands.

Moving to grab two packets of the brand that doesn't bring him out in itchy hives when cleaning blood off his skin - the green ones not yellow - Sam stops when he spots a multipack of four for the same brand and on offer at a cheaper price than paying for two individually. Rolling his eyes at illogical supermarket pricing, he grabs the multipack and moves to meet Dean who's heading his way, absently dumping three packs of hand tissues in the cart while reading the back of a fourth. Sam's sure they had tissues at home and maybe Sam would've remembered to stash them in the trunk unlike his big brother if said big brother had woken him up before they left the bunker.

Shaking his head, Sam's attention is suddenly caught by an array of colourful packages to his left, the picture on one specific item catching his focus immediately. He feels an emotion flood through him that he can't quite pinpoint exactly, but he does know his palms are itching to grab up the item and stash it away in the cart. But he will never do that. Not here. Not now. Not ever. He's a big boy now. He doesn't need something like that.

"Sammy?"

Sam does his best not to startle as Dean's voice rings right beside him. He spins to face Dean, kicking himself when he feels the heat flare across his cheeks for the second time in the space of five minutes. The embarrassment from the thermometer and now this causes his defences to flare to the fore before he can reign them in.

 

#

 

“Sammy?”

Sammy quickly turns. Dean is almost floored by the brutal look of longing in his baby brother’s eyes before it is slammed away, Sammy’s face flushing pink. His kid shoots him a glare before abruptly turning to face away again, opening his hand to let a multi-pack of baby wipes drop into the cart unceremoniously, before practically dragging the cart away, Dean along with him.

With a frown, Dean glances back at what in the hell could’ve put that look of longing in his brother’s eyes. His eyebrows shoot upwards as he spies the section dedicated to rows of pacifiers. His eyes zero-in on one with a cartoon puppy design and he knows Sammy’s eyes would have found it instantly. Sammy has had a love for all things puppy’s ever since he was a toddler when Pastor Jim had handed the kid a puppy stuffy from the church’s lost property. Not that Sammy knew that or cared. The brat would barely let it go even to have a bath and god forbid Sammy was put to bed without the thing.  

But the one thing Sammy never had was a pacifier with a puppy design on the end. Or any design for that matter. They had always been plain and boring, the cheapest Dean could find whilst still being acceptable for his baby brother’s use, lest Sammy bite through the rubber nipple and choke on it. Something that would have been completely unacceptable and had been one of Dean’s biggest concerns back then.

He thinks maybe he should go back and grab several of the largest size and casually drop them in the cart to swap out for the kid’s thumb when Sammy’s sleeping. At least as a stop-gap until he can get the kid to take one on his own. And Dean now thinks that might not be as hard as he had been contemplating. Now, however, isn’t the right time and Sammy’s too observant not to notice Dean putting pacifiers in the cart. The kid would know they’re for him and go off on one out of principal alone. The pacifiers would get shoved back on the shelf and Sammy would be in a pissy mood for the rest of the day. No. When the day finally comes that Dean gets his kid a pacifier, it will need to be when Sam’s not with him. Or when he can get a free minute to search online for more appropriate adult sized ones to fit Sammy’s mouth. Preferably one of them will at least have a puppy on it.

Dean’s phone rings. Halting the cart and by extension Sam, he digs his phone out of his jeans pocket and answers it. “Cas?”

“This is ridiculous, Dean! Why does everything have to be so different and in so many different colours! I just cannot fathom it!”

The frustration is more than evident in his partner’s voice and Dean refrains from laughing. He doesn’t want Cas feeling anymore insecure about buying clothes for himself than he clearly already does. Dean has enough trouble dealing with Sammy’s tantrums when it comes to getting the kid clothing in his size. And they wonder why he despises clothes shopping.

“Cas, calm down, okay. We’re on our way up. We’ll figure it out.”

“Oh. Good.”

Dean blinks at his phone as Cas hangs up. “Okay then.”

“You know it might’ve been easier if you’d just gone with him to begin with,” Sam chuckles. “Can I sit back and watch this disaster unfold when we get up there?”

“You better shut it, Sammy. And no teasing Cas, you hear me? Unless you’d like me to detour to the play centre. I’m sure they’ll accept you in to stay once I tell ‘em my giant of a child is being a brat.”

“Hahaha, Dean,” Sam scoffs.

But Dean notices him nervously glance over towards the kid’s centre, where the clowns on the outer walls are grinning with those thick black mouths. Which _is_ kind of creepy. But no doubt Sammy’s imagination has them glaring nastily with razor sharp teeth or something. Sam quickly draws his gaze away, looking at Dean instead. Dean arch’s an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll be good, Dean,” he promises.

Dean gives the back of the kid’s neck a squeeze in reassurance. Sam may have faced down a clown and sort of won, but the kid is still afraid of them. Dean doesn’t like to use them against Sam, but it’s not the first time he’s threatened to put Sam in that place when they’ve been here and Sam’s been acting like a two-year-old little shit. Of course, his gullible kid falls for it every time.

“I know you will, kiddo.” _Otherwise_ _my hand and your butt will be having a conversation in the bathroom_ , Dean silently adds.

Upstairs they find Cas standing in the middle of the men’s clothing section, staring around at all the racks of clothes with wide-eyes. Guilt surges through Dean and he lets go of the cart, approaching his partner. Relief floods Cas’ eyes as he spots Dean. Dean grasps the other man’s upper arms, placing a kiss of reassurance to Cas’ lips, uncaring of anyone seeing.

“Hey, it’s okay, Cas.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispers dejectedly. “I wanted to at least do this by myself.”

“And you will be, Cas, cause I ain’t choosing for ya, man.” Dean stares hard at his partner, hoping to convey the silent message that he’s here for the man – even in clothes shopping – but he’s not doing all the work.

Cas takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders the same way Dean’s seen him do before they’re about to go into battle, and nods. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” Hiding his smile, Dean turns to his brother, who has amusement written in his eyes and clearly wants to watch the rest of the show. “Sammy, go sit on the stools over there and stay put.”

Sam opens his mouth but Dean shoots him a look. Sam huffs and does as instructed, taking the cart with him. Dean watches until his kid is seated on one of four grey-cushioned square stools sitting in a block before leading his partner over to the racks of shirts. Fifteen minutes later Dean hands off the pile of clothing across his own arm to Cas so the former-angel can head into the changing rooms to try it all on. Dean flops down beside his brother, laying backwards over the stools.

“Remind me again why I hate clothes shopping, Sammy.”

“Because it annoys the crap out of you,” Sam supplies easily.

“Oh good. I thought I’d gone soft there for a sec. Now I feel much better,” Dean smirks, pushing himself upright again.

Sam laughs, nudging him in the ribs with an elbow. Dean wraps an arm around his neck, pulling his kid down and using his knuckles to noogie Sam’s head.

“Get off,” Sam whines at him, pushing at Dean’s arm with very little effort.

“Say the magic words.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Wrong.”

Sam huffs. “You’re the bestest big brother in the whole wide world.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Dean grins, smoothing down Sam’s hair and unconsciously placing a quick kiss to it, before gently shoving Sammy away.

Sam smiles shyly, knuckling an eye. He yawns and a thumb moves dangerously close to Sammy’s lips before he remembers where they are and the thumb is quickly dropped. A faint line of pink crosses Sammy’s cheeks as he looks down at his lap dejectedly.

“We’ll be done soon, kiddo,” Dean bumps his shoulder gently against Sam’s. “Then you can sleep some more.”

“Not sleepy no more,” Sam pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Well if that’s not a toddler-Sammy response then Dean’s memory is a little backwards. He lets it go. There’s no point arguing about something that’s inevitable anyway. Half hour back in the car and Sammy will be out like a light again. Dean’s gaze gets caught by an older guy with a hyper three or four year old boy, and the child leash attached to the kid’s wrist, the other end connected to the dad’s. And probably the only thing keeping the kid from doing a runner.

Dean smirks, nudging Sam in the arm. “That’s what you need,” Dean says once he has Sam’s attention, nodding over to the dad and child. “Make it a bungee and you’ll snap right back before you go smacking into all those walls.”

“Sure. I’d snap back at you and knock you on your ass,” Sam retorts with a faint grin.

Dean laughs.

Sam sighs, scrubbing at his eyes. “What’s taking him so long? It’s just a couple pants and shirts!” the kid grumbles, getting to his feet. “I’m going to the electronic department.”

“You’re not.” Dean’s aware the electronic department is opposite clothing and next to toys, but with them currently being amongst the racks of clothing he doesn’t have a direct line of sight from here. “Cas’ll be done in no time, Sammy, then we’ll head over there. Park your butt back down.”

Dean raises an eyebrow as Sam actually sticks his tongue out at him and remains standing. Dean’s sure he’s going to have lung problems if he keeps sighing like this. But he gets it, he does. The kid is tired. And he adds cranky to the list when Sam kicks the bottom of the stool he only thirty seconds ago vacated. It’s only a light kick but it still dislodges the stools position from amongst the other three.

“Little boy, you put that back to rights, now.”

“No.” Sammy actually has the audacity to kick the stool again, dislodging it further. “ _You_ do it.”

Dean knows to nip this in the bud before it can escalate. He grasps his kid’s wrist, pulls Sam towards him and swats the seat of Sam’s jeans. A quiet yelp leaves Sam’s mouth as his hand fly’s back to his butt.

“Now, Samuel.”

Wrist still in Dean’s grasp, Sam quickly rights the stool before rubbing at his butt, and shifting closer to Dean until one leg rests against Dean’s right knee. “You smacked me,” he accuses quietly with a sniffle, swiping the back of his hands over his moist eyes, a faint blush across his cheeks.

“Something that generally happens when you behave like a brat.”

“’M not a brat.”

“Didn’t say you are. Said you’re behaving like one, Sam.”

“'M not. I'm just …"

“Bored. Tired. Cranky. Take your pick. Now _why_ did I swat you, Sam?”

"Cause you're a meanie," Sam states plainly as if that should be more than obvious, bottom lip jutting out.

Dean has to refrain from smiling at the purely childish retort. He's a 'meanie' after all. And meanies don't smile at their baby brother’s being adorable little shits. “Aside from that.” Sam remains stubbornly silent except for another sniffle. Dean gives his wrist a gentle shake. “Why did I swat you, Sam?”

“For being naughty,” Sam finally mumbles, tugging his wrist, but Dean keeps hold of it. “For kicking the stool and not putting it back when you told me to.”

Dean nods, releasing his hold. “Now sit down.” Sam slumps back down onto his stool, rubbing at his eyes again. “When a minute’s up, we’ll go to electronics,” Dean states glancing down at his watch.

It has barely been five minutes since Cas entered the changing rooms and there was a mountain of clothing for the man to try on so they have a while yet. Taking Sammy to electronics is a better idea than sitting here. The gadgets can entertain the kid, and probably the toy department too, but he isn’t going to immediately reward his kid after that display. Dean watches as the little boy attached to the dad suddenly barrels into Sam’s legs.

“Careful there, buddy,” Sam says softly, righting the giggling kid.

“Sorry,” the dad apologises, looking frazzled as he runs a hand through his red hair. “I swear these places are trying to do parents in, sticking toys next to clothing. What kind of evil does that?”

Dean chuckles lightly, knowing his own feelings on these places runs along the same lines. “Yeah, tell me about it. Least you can keep hold of yours,” Dean gestures at the child leash.

“Man, I think that’s my wife’s idea of Nicky keeping a hold of me instead of the other way around,” the dad snorts a laugh. "I did leave him in the kid’s centre but he followed me," he adds, his smile fond.

"They got nasty clowns," Sammy says before ducking his head, a blush again spreading across his cheeks, but he does laugh when the kid, Nicky, shows Sammy his bear and almost squishes the thing in Sam’s face.

Dean’s pretty sure his kid hadn’t meant to voice that out loud, but when Sammy’s tired that innocence Sam tries so hard to keep hidden creeps out. Generally short-circuiting Sam’s mental controls on his mouth.

"Oh clowns should definitely be exterminated," the dad says vehemently. "Not when they've got people behind them, of course," he's quick to add.

Dean snorts, thinking of a few clowns he's had to exterminate in his time.

Sammy's raises his head a little. "You don't like them either?"

"I'm not fond of them, no. Creepy for sure."

Dean shakes his head, watching Sammy poking Nicky’s bear in the stomach causing Nicky to giggle and bounce up and down on the spot, shouting “‘Gain, ‘gain!” Dean raises a knowing eyebrow at the dad. “Sugar high?” he comments.

“God, yes! I’ve made a mental note not to use candy as bribery again. How’d you know?”

Dean laughs, nodding. “It’s familiar, man. At least if you do bribe ‘em with candy limit it to just the one candy at a time. Always used to work for mine.”

“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, man. Nice talking to you guys. C’mon, Nicky, time to go,” the dad scoops up his pouting kid and heads away after a quick bye to Sam.

Dean feels eyes on him a moment later and ignores them. Until they start to irritate him. “What?” he snaps, turning to eye his brother.

“Nothing,” Sam responds quickly, shaking his head, turning his gaze away but Dean could swear there’s a smile on his lips.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean mutters as he gets to his feet. Sam looks up at him in question. “You wanna go visit the gadgets or sit here even longer, little brother?”

Sam’s eyes instantly brighten a little and he rises to his feet eagerly, hand clamping down on the side of the cart. 

They’re in the electronic department for barely a minute before Sam unconsciously starts pulling the cart towards the toys. Dean doesn’t fight it and lets his kid lead the way. He sees Sam blink, and it’s clear he’s just realising where they are. Dean’s expecting him to bolt any second. The kids arm sneaks out, snatching a packet hanging on a strip at the edge of a shelf beside him and dumps it in the cart.

“We needed those,” Sammy mutters, but doesn’t race out of the aisle like Dean suspected he would. Though he can’t help but stare down at the cartoon animal stickers in amusement. _Yep, definitely a much-needed item, Sammy._

“Sammy, stay where I can see you and you can look at what you want,” Dean instructs.

“Don’t wanna look at anything here.” He hears Sam grumble, but the kid let’s go of the cart regardless, eyes focused on a toy dinosaur that can be changed into a truck. Sam quickly moves off, but he’s just as quickly caught by another toy.

The creativity section ends the toy department and Sammy wanders the aisle, looking at the assortment of art supplies, colouring books, pens and so on. Watching his kid unnoticed from the end of the aisle, Dean shakes his head sadly as Sammy lightly runs his fingers across the glossy cover of a colouring book as he moves away. _Why can’t the kid just ask for what he wants?_ Dean thinks with no small amount of frustration. And sadness. Because he also knows the answer. Sam has no problem making himself known if he disagrees with Dean, but he will rarely speak up and ask for something he wants that isn’t required for their hunting life. And Dean knows it partly stems from money issues.

Admittedly Dean has never taken too kindly to Sam worrying about any money situations they have. It’s one of the reasons why Dean never properly taught Sam how to hustle until after they were back on the road together. Why the kid would stay outside, or in a corner of a bar. And aside from Sammy’s whole moral issue of _knowing_ Dean hustles and _seeing_ Dean hustle being two different things, there’s also the danger aspect. And that Dean will break anyone’s face that gets up in his brother’s; the cause of most of his bar fights usually. It wasn’t and isn’t Sam’s job to worry about their budget. But as hard as Dean had tried to keep that issue away from Sammy growing up, as a kid Dean hadn’t been as versed in hiding the stress of it as he is more than capable of now. Not that Sammy really understood back then; the kid was just aware Dean was tense and upset, which upset Sammy in turn.

They still pull the credit card scams, but they’ve only ever been able to open one or two a year and not always a double. When that happens, Sam generally doesn’t get a card, the kid always insisting it should be Dean. Because Dean has always dealt with their cash flow and bought the things they need when and if they need it. Dean just knows when Sam needs the essentials and it’s usually replaced before the kid really notices. Plus Sammy’s conscience is clean for that stretch of time Dean solely holds the credit card. The last three years since finding the bunker and consequently the Men of Letters accounts for the American Chapter had definitely alleviated some of that stress. There is a substantial amount sitting in those accounts, but they still have to budget that cash if they want it to last on a long term basis.

 _“Hey, Dean, what’cha think this is?” Sam questions shoving a slim but thick and old book under Dean’s nose as he’s shifting his new private desk around in the library._

_He’s just barely managing not to drop the heavy wooden and wide-legged desk on his toes as his field of vision disappears. The book is open from what Dean can tell but everything is a little fuzzy what with it practically touching the tip of his nose._ _Easing the desk to the floor, he releases his hold and grasps Sam’s arm to still the movement of the book, before easing it away from his face. He blinks out his cross-eyes and gets his first look at the pages. It’s filled with numbers, lists. A graph with headers like incoming and outgoing and Dean’s eyes widen as he realises he’s looking at an older version of fairly modern day account books. The last time Dean had truly worked with accounts was over fifteen years ago, but he hasn’t forgotten._

_“This-this …” Dean stutters as he stares down at the last figure in the book._

_Sammy stares at him in worry. “Dean?”_

_“If-if-if these things are valid, Sammy, then… jackpot, baby!” Dean crows, finally getting his jaw working properly and jumps in the air with a pump of his fist._

_“What are you talking about? It’s just a bunch of numbers, Dean,” Sam says confused._

_“Numbers, Sammy? No,” Dean places his hands on his little brother’s shoulders and gives him a little shake. “No, no, no, Sammy. This, my baby brother, is cash. Lots and lots of cash.”_

_Sam gapes at him. “Men of Letters accounts?”_

_“Uh-huh,” Dean agrees before realising Sammy had said ‘accounts’ plural, as in more than one. He stares in his brother’s eyes. “Sammy… did you find more books like this?”_

_“Sure.” Sam crosses to the closest library table, digging his hand into the small cardboard box he’d been sorting while Dean was trying to get his desk just where he wants it._

_“‘Sure’, he says,” Dean snorts, “like its every day we find a wealth of gold stashed away!”_

_Sam laughs, staring at him as if he’s nuts. Maybe he is, just a little smidgeon. He grins. Because if they can at least get access to some of this money they’re laughing. A huge weight will be lifted from Dean’s shoulders, at least for a time._

_Sammy pulls two more identical account books from the box and holds them out to Dean. Dean almost reverently opens each in turn. The top one looks to be a much smaller account, but the bottom one is larger than the top account and the first Sammy showed him combined._

_“American Chapter?” Sam reads over his shoulder. “From what we’ve found so far the Men of Letters seem pretty extensive but do you think there could be bunkers out there, all around the world?”_

_“Could be, Sammy,” Dean shrugs. “But who cares. No one’s getting this one. This place is_ our _legacy…”_

Since Dean had had to figure out money practically before he could even count past fifty, it had been automatic for Dean to sort out those books and figure out if they were still viable as accounts. Which he had soon found out they all were. Dean had had the bank make the accounts accessible online, finding out just how much sixty years of interest earns. He had drawn up new books, modern and a damn sight easier to work around. And a week later, brand new cards for each account arrived in the Men of Letters PO Box under Dean’s alias of Dean Matthew Williams. An alias very legit everywhere on paper thanks to an old forger and an old lawyer, both firm friends of Bobby’s who had helped set it all up shortly before Dean turned eighteen. Dean has never used the alias in hunting, he has kept it buried as deep as possible as not to chance the cops or feds getting a hold of it. And now the Men of Letters accounts are so happily buried underneath enough crap no one will be able to trace them back to either Dean or Sam.  

The smallest of the accounts became their allowance account. It allows for both of them to have weekly allowances to do with what they please, whilst both their necessities are taken care of by the expense account, the largest of the three. The middle sits as is, under lock and key, drawing in interest and will not be touched anytime soon. Though Dean’s allowance is higher than Sammy’s forty bucks a week. Dean isn’t allowed to withhold Sam’s as punishment, and Sam knows not to expect any more than his weekly amount if he runs out before the next week is due. And it isn’t Dean being a stingy bastard either – he had done the math, worked it out from the allowance account as to how much would be reasonable and equal amount for each of them and then presented the figure to Sam. Who had said no and gone into a spiel about how Dean should be getting more. Something along the lines of Dean going out more by choice than Sammy, who prefers to stay in or around the area of the bunker when they’re not on a hunt. And when the kid does go out when not involving a hunt it’s primarily with Dean, who generally pays. Dean in turn had shot that idea down, stating they get equal share or nothing at all.

Sam being his stubborn shit of a self had turned around and said, “Fine, I don’t want anything and you can have it all.”

Dean had eventually compromised on the forty bucks out of pure frustration after several hours of going back and forth. Sam had grinned at him, saying, “Knew you’d see things my way.” Dean had rolled his eyes, because seriously the kid had talked his way out of getting an extra sixty bucks a week in favour of Dean getting it.  

Dean had wanted Sam to learn the books shortly after figuring out the accounts and getting them in order. Just in case. Sammy had tried, had listened, but although Sam’s a whiz at figuring out math in his head, the kid can’t figure out the calculations on paper to save his life. Whereas Dean’s the other way around. And as patient as Dean can be when teaching Sam, they’d ended up involved in an argument each and every time he’d tried teaching Sammy the books. Both of their frustrations coming to a head. And honestly, he just didn’t think Sam’s heart was in it. So Dean deals with the books, and Sammy makes sure the electricity and water are still running efficiently every three months. Though, Dean does know how to do that thanks to watching Sammy performing the diagnostics a couple times. Just in case.

At some point Dean will sit down and figure out how to incorporate Cas into the weekly allowances without drawing any more money into the allowance account just yet. Because to do that would be taking from the expenses account and Dean is not prepared to do that, or touch the other account either. He’s hoping for a future here. At least for Sammy. That’s his hope. But he’s pretty sure Sammy knows his allowance is getting cut down, maybe drastically. Not that Dean isn’t aware Sam already shoved thirty bucks of his allowance at Cas last week for the former-angel’s use. He doesn’t think there will be a real issue, Sammy’s too generous, but Dean doesn’t want Sammy’s needs getting lost. It’s definitely why he and his baby boy need to have a talk. Dean needs Sammy to know he can ask for whatever he wants when he doesn’t himself have the money for it. He may not always get what he asks for, but Dean will always try and do the best he can. He always has.

As Sam passes into the next aisle, Dean moves forward, picking up the dinosaur colouring book Sam had been eyeing and drops it in the cart. Another one catches Dean’s eye and the puppy on the front with its big hazel eyes draws him in and Dean honestly can’t resist and adds it to the cart’s growing pile. It’s probably a bit young, but he doesn’t care. Of course, now he needs to get the kid some more colouring pens. The ones Sam already has are all but out of ink, with only three colours left that work. The pack of ten Sammy had put in earlier are the washable ones they use for the walls and _not_ for colouring. Dean’s pretty strict about that. He adds a pack of colouring pencils as well as crayons to the cart.  

Dean picks up the toy dinosaur-truck thing as they pass by it again, taking in the picture; surprised to find the image of the truck holds a resemblance to Bobby’s old red Chevy truck. He figures the toy is a cheaper version of a _Transformer_ , but the construction of it will keep Sam occupied in the car when his brain is too frazzled to keep researching. It’s likely they’ll be in the car plenty on this hunt, because he doubts Rowena will still be in Olympia or Vancouver very long, or still even be in either place when they get there.

Some part of his brain questions why he wants to buy his brother a toy to begin with. It’s not like with the colouring books. Sammy has always loved colouring, even as an adult. It is some sort of relaxing therapy for Sam, and Dean’s agreeable with whatever might keep Sammy out of his nightmares. But this… Sam’s sat through hundreds of car journeys without Dean feeling a need to buy him something to play with to keep his bored mind occupied. Maybe it’s just simply the fact that when Sammy gets bored, he often feels the need to annoy the hell out of his big brother instead and Dean just wants to avoid that outcome.

 _Yeah, that’s it exactly,_ Dean’s mind latches on to that explanation as the red and silver dinosaur-truck toy joins the colouring books and pens.

“Oh, no way,” Dean mutters with no small amount of awe, his eye catching another from the same family of toy; another dinosaur that changes into a vehicle. But this one is black and silver and changeable into the almost perfect replica of the Impala. There is no way in hell that’s staying on the shelf.

“Dean.”

Hand outstretched to the dinosaur-Impala, Dean turns his head. “Hey, Cas, you good?”

Cas offers a smile and nod, looking down at the much smaller pile of clothing draped over his left arm than what he had entered the changing rooms with. His right arm is bent upwards, the hook of a hanger attached. Dean can make out three pairs of jeans, three t-shirts, three shirts, a pair of sweatpants and a couple sweaters, just as he’d suggested. Oh, and the boots dangling down from Cas’ hand by the laces. Cas will need a few more items undoubtedly, but the basics is all Dean’s going for right now.    

“You get the suit?”

Cas’ finger wriggles around the hanger hook. “The blue one.”

“Naturally,” Dean smiles, finally moving his hand forward and drawing the toy from the shelf.

“What is that?” Cas leans over slightly to peruse the box, smiling as he sees what it is. “A suitable replacement for the weapons neither of us want Sam to be playing with,” Cas comments casually.

Shit, Dean hadn't even thought about that as a motivation for picking these - at least consciously. He stares down at the toy in his hold and moves to put the dinosaur-Impala back, because this is stupid. Right? What is he doing? Sammy's a thirty-two year old man, not an eight year old. Dean absently glances down at the age range on the toy. Yep. Eight plus. The last time he had bought Sam something that could be considered a toy was that tablet Sammy usually has doing double-duty with the laptop. Though he'd definitely seen his kid playing a few games on it. But that's an age appropriate toy. This… he looks down at the dinosaur-Impala again, the picture on the front… screw it, this is going in the cart. Screw proprietary rights on age appropriate toys. Who pays attention to those things anyway? Sammy's getting a couple toys. So fuck it, who gives a shit. Dino-Impala takes pride of place in the cart next to Dino-Truck.

“Both of us know Sammy still needs to handle the weapons,” he makes sure to tell Cas firmly upon looking back up and seeing the smile on his partner’s lips.

“I know, Dean,” Cas responds, the smile slipping. “I merely meant that I’d much rather see him playing with these toys than a weapon.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, gaze travelling to his baby brother further up the aisle. “Me too.” Dean watches his brother reading the back of a box for a moment before calling to him. Sam’s head perks up. “C’mon, we’re going.”

Sam jogs towards them, immediately going to Cas and perusing the former-angel’s choices of clothing. And they _had_ been all Cas’ choices. Dean had simply been there for encouragement, especially considering not one of those shirts is plaid. Though he’d definitely put his foot down against a Hawaiian print.

“What about a winter jacket?” Sam comments, glancing back at Dean who is bringing up the rear with the cart, his concern evident. They are after all heading towards a place that can be freezing this time of year.

“I have an old one of your brother’s in the car, little one,” Cas assures. “It’s suitable for my needs.”

“Oh, okay,” Sam nods and scrubs at an eye again, barely concealing another yawn behind his hand.

This whole shopping trip has taken an hour longer than Dean was expecting and hoping. Sam’s now barely keeping from dragging his feet and his hand isn’t on the cart. But Cas carefully lays his suit over top of their items in the cart – conveniently hiding the toys – and winds the fingers of his now free hand around Sammy’s wrist in a gentle hold. Dean nods approvingly as Cas flicks his gaze back at him. And Sammy - save for a quick look down - surprisingly isn’t making one ounce of fuss about it.

Finding an empty checkout is relatively easy thanks to the sheer number of them, and Dean manoeuvres the cart into one just being opened. It takes him only a second to notice how close they are to the kid’s centre that now has an _actual_ clown playing with a couple kids in the middle of the gated area out front.

Which is just fucking fantastic.

It’s quick and easy for Dean to make the executive decision to turn Sammy around and send him off to the restroom while he and Cas pack up their purchases. Not only for the fact Dean has no intention of stopping again until they have at least a good hundred miles under their belt, but because it’ll avoid a clown meltdown. Sammy’s too tired for his fear not to affect him at the moment and Dean’s not sure he has the patience for dealing with that right now either. Plus it’ll prevent Sam from seeing the toys and colouring books until Dean’s ready to hand them off. Because he’s not sure when that will be, his doubts about them creeping in again.

Finished at the checkout six minutes later, Dean and Cas trade off visiting the restroom and staying with Sammy. Leaving the cart in Cas’ hands, they pass through the doors and into fresh air where Dean bumps straight into Sam’s back after the kid stops suddenly. Glancing up slightly, he’s surprised to find Sammy’s gaze is caught by a passing toddler in her mother’s arms, more specifically the pacifier in her mouth. That expression of longing is in Sammy’s eyes once again and Dean has to nudge his baby brother in the back to get him moving again.

Sammy shakes himself awake, blushing as he ducks his head and shoves his hands in his pockets, his long striding legs moving him swiftly away. Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean, surprised by Sam’s sudden speed to get to the car. Dean shakes his head, only just stopping himself from turning on his heels and heading back into the store to make another purchase.

 _Now’s not the time_ , he tells himself again.

But Dean is definitely without any doubt that there will be a pacifier coming in Sammy’s near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that I've probably bored you all to death, see you in the comments :)


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it has been over a month since I last updated! Sorry guys! It really wasn’t supposed to take that long, dammit. Thank you for waiting so patiently, and, hopefully, it will have been well worth the wait – this chapter would not have been in anyway like this had I posted sooner :)
> 
> ereynolds – you know you rock soul mate of fanfiction world. And look it! We actually posted in the same week. Go us! Love ya and thank you! :)
> 
> Once again a resounding thank you to all who have left comments, kudos and bookmarked this story. I'm truly amazed by the response this story has received. You guys are truly awesome!! You feed me fuel and inspire me to continue to write this. Keep it up, please.

Leaning half against the passenger side door and the back of the rear seat, Sam yawns before swinging his legs down into the footwell and sitting up straight. He had switched to sitting mostly lengthways across the backseat an hour ago when Dean threatened to pull the car over after Sam kicked the back of the front seat for the sixth time. Like it was Sam’s fault his legs had become restless and cramped. And, yeah, maybe the last few kicks had been on purpose, but that’s Dean’s own fault for telling Sam off like he’s five just because Dean’s grumpy.

Which granted is probably Sam’s fault, too. He doesn’t know exactly how much sleep his brother and Cas have managed to fit in over the past few days, but he doubts it’s all that much. Dean, however, has been insistent they get as far into the journey to Olympia as possible before they stop for the night. They’ve stopped once for gas, a bathroom break and to grab the snacks out of the trunk in the space of four hours and nearly three hundred miles, and that was only a ten minute rest stop, if that. And it’s only when Dean swerves onto the verge for the third time that Cas finally snaps, telling Dean he either finds them a room for the night or Cas takes over the wheel.

Needless to say just over twenty minutes later Dean’s swinging the Impala into the streetlight lit parking lot of the first motel they come across; The Dove Creek Motel.

Sam covers a yawn behind his hand, though clearly not enough as Dean’s keen eyes find his in the rear-view mirror. Thankfully, Dean makes no mention of it and instead opens his door, stepping out of the car. Sam follows, along with Cas, and shivers in the cold November air of Wyoming. He reaches back into the car, snagging his winter jacket and throwing it on, immensely grateful to Dean for remembering to bring it with them.

“Cas, you wanna do the honours?” Dean says, holding up his wallet, before sliding it across the car roof.

Cas snags the wallet before it can topple off the roof and heads for the motel reception at the far end of the two storey straight block of rooms. It looks pretty decent from the outside. But it’s also a motel that doesn’t offer parking directly outside each room which Sam knows his brother hates. Dean’s never afraid to be vocal about that either, but still has to put up with having the Impala a few extra feet away from the room when a town or highway offers no other accommodation. As it is, there are only two other cars in the lot. And both are parked a good seven or eight spaces away from where Dean’s parked the Impala.

Sam scrubs at an eye before resting his elbows on the roof of the Impala so he can talk to his brother better. “You know, I still think this is a bad idea,” he comments not for the first time today since waking up at the market.

“Stopping here for the night?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “I ain’t crashing my baby ‘cause I can’t keep my damn eyes open, Sammy.”

Sam stares at his brother, refraining from rolling his eyes; _now_ Dean is willing to admit he needed to stop for the night. Just when Cas isn’t in their vicinity. Typical. Plus his brother knows full well that wasn’t what Sam was referring to with his statement.

Dean’s eyes roll heavenward as he sighs. “All right, don’t get you’re panties in a wad, Samantha. Haven’t I promised I won’t gank Rowena the second we find her? Like a _thousand_ times already.”

“Yeah, but what about the second after? Because Cas is right, Dean. Rowena could have some useful information on the spell and you know killing her won’t get us anything.”

“I _know_ that, Sam. That’s why I agreed to this frigging hunt in the first place.”

“Right. But I’m just saying …” Sam pauses, knowing what he’s about to suggest may not go over well with his overprotective big brother, but he has to try. He’s been stewing on the idea and they do need whatever Rowena could give them. “Maybe, you know, when we do find her… Cas and I should approach her.”  

“That’s not happening, Sam,” Dean immediately shoots down, moving around to the trunk as he does.

Sam follows him. “But Dean …”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean places strict emphasis on Sam’s name to stop him talking, “It’s not happening. Whenever we catch up with that bitch, we’re going after her _together_ , end of. And if she does offer up some helpful insight then maybe afterwards I’ll just cut her tongue out so she can’t piss me off anymore.”

“Dean …”

“Sam …”

“They only have one room free,” Cas’ voice interrupts from beside them. Sam and Dean turn to see the ex-angel holding up a key, the man’s blue eyes roving over the all-but empty lot in an exaggerated manner before looking back to them. “Number one-twelve. Apparently a small room with a queen and a twin.”

“Great,” Sam grumbles, snatching up his duffle from within the trunk, knowing where he’ll be sleeping tonight. Which added with Dean’s unwillingness to listen just pisses him off.

“Its fine, Cas,” Dean cuts off what Sam’s about to say next which is probably just as well. “Sammy’s more than capable of sleeping in a twin. He’ll just have to keep his fidgeting to a minimum so he doesn’t fall out.”

“Well you two better keep the sex non-existent so I don’t THROW you out!” Sam snaps and stomps off, clearly catching Dean’s next sentence.

“I swear to god that kid’s gonna get a proper ass spanking before we’re done with this search, Cas.”

Sam glares at the floor, kicking at the gravel as he heads towards the room. He swings his duffle down from his shoulder and lobs it at the door of one-twelve in frustration. The bag hits the door with a thud before hitting the ground. He feels the hand on his butt not ten seconds later; the noise of the swat sounding as loud as a gunshot in the open air, before the sting sweeps across his right butt cheek.

He turns swiftly, his hands flying back to cover his bottom as the embarrassment of being swatted in public like a naughty child for the second time in one day sweeps through him. Even if there is no one currently around to have witnessed it like there had been in the supermarket earlier. He meets the sharp gaze of his brother with a glare; Cas moving passed them to open the motel room door, expression clearly disapproving.  

“I get you’re tired, Sam,” Dean says sharply, “but if you don’t quit it with these displays of attitude you’re gonna be facing some time in a corner …”

“I don’t need no frigging time out, Dean! So go screw yourself!”

Dean grabs him by his left bicep, dislodging that hand from his butt, and turns him swiftly to the side before Sam can protest. "Move your hand," Dean demands, voice full of steel.

Sam gulps, horribly aware he isn't getting away from this and drops his right hand from his bottom. Then his hips are shooting forward from the five hard swats Dean delivers him, his jeans shielding him from very little of the sting. Tears well in his eyes and fall unchecked down his cheeks. A second later he’s being hauled through their motel room door and Sam barely gets a glimpse of the room before he’s staring too closely at miniature birds decorating two intersecting walls.

“Ten minutes, Samuel,” Dean says firmly, while Sam feels his brother’s fingers at his wrists, giving a tug at the sleeves of his winter jacket and the item of clothing slides down Sam’s arms and off his body. “And I better see a little boy who can behave himself by that time.”

Sam yelps as Dean’s hand lands another sharp swat to his bottom before he hears his brother moving away from directly behind him. Sam swipes at his eyes. This is really not fair. _Why do I have to be stuck with a big brother that treats me like I’m still fucking three years old?_ He thinks snidely as he sticks his thumb in his mouth.

Nine minutes later he’s itching to be released from the corner and not just because he needs to pee. Outside of a spanking, being put in time out is the punishment he hates the most. Whether it’s in a corner, on a step, the floor, or on a chair, he despises it. There’s a whole bunch of other things he can think to be doing with his time instead of wasting them away on a punishment like this. He sighs, _guess that’s why Dean knows it’s effective on me. Maybe if I act like I love it …_

“Sam, turn around.”

Sam just manages to stop himself from jumping at the sound of Dean’s gruff voice in the silence of the room even though he had been expecting it. He turns around, heat covering his face as he’s confronted with his brother and Cas’ scrutinising gazes. And the motel manager really hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Cas it was only a small room.

The queen bed is practically sitting on top of the two-chair table squashed underneath the one window situated in the same wall as the room door. The twin is crammed against the far wall, only a thin slab of wood separating it from the queen, creating only a small aisle between the two beds. The bathroom door has to be only five feet away from the end of the beds, a dark wood armchair sitting next to it in the corner. A long, matching wooden eighties-style bureau runs along the outer bathroom wall, an old and bulky television set perched atop it. An almost non-existent kitchenette stands right next to the bureau. They are definitely going to be stepping on each other’s toes, but they’ve stayed in worst places.

At least it’s clean.    

Dean’s staring at him from his position seated on the edge of the queen closest to the door. While Cas sits at the table before Dean, their knees practically touching. “You about ready to be done with your time out, Samuel Dean?”

Sam nods vigorously from where he’s planted in the corner between the window and the queen bed. “Uh-huh,” he mumbles around his thumb, forgetting it was there, and slips it from his mouth. “Yes sir.” He really wants to ignore this whole situation, just get passed both men and go to the bathroom, but he also wants Dean’s strong arms holding him; comforting him.

“Then c’mere, Sammy,” Dean instructs taking the choice away from him.

Sam quickly steps forward and Dean immediately pulls him down onto a knee, wrapping strong arms around him. Sam sags, wrapping his own arms around his brother, gripping tightly at the back of the man’s shirt.

“’M sorry,” he mumbles against his brother’s ear, tears once again rising.

“I know, kiddo,” Dean’s voice ghosts over Sam’s ear. “But you gotta try curbing the attitude, okay? And the tantrums.” Sam nods through a sniffle, though he’s really not sure he can do either. It all just sprouts out of him before his brain kicks in, whether because of anger, frustration or a whole gamut of other emotions, and by then it’s too late and he’s in trouble. “We’re asking that you try, Sammy, that’s all,” Dean adds as if sensing Sam’s inner turmoil.

Sam nods again. “Can try.”

“Atta boy.” Dean pats his back lightly.

Sam sits back after soaking up the comfort of Dean’s arms for another minute. He swipes at his eyes before leaning over to give a surprised Cas a hug and an apology as well. He feels the former-angel’s arms wrap around him to return the embrace. Clearing his throat self-consciously as he pulls back a moment later, he rises from Dean’s knee and snatches up his duffle from the table, where Cas and Dean’s bags also reside. He gives both his brother and Cas a small shy smile before he crosses the room to dump his bag on the twin bed before hurrying into the bathroom.

Coming out a moment later with both an empty bladder and a washed face, Sam grabs up the television remote from the bureau and flops down on the end of the queen. Dean takes his place in the bathroom without bothering to close the door. Sam rolls his eyes and kicks off his boots with two dull thuds against the carpet. He shifts onto his tummy, absently kicking his feet back and forth behind him as he switches on the TV, flicking through the channels. Maybe if he can find a movie or a cartoon that requires very little in the way of brainwork it’ll perk him up enough to get back to his research.

Dean walks out of the bathroom, curls an arm around Cas’ waist as the former-angel moves to head into the bathroom, and kisses him. Sam rolls his eyes again and coughs, loudly. Dean waves a hand at him and continues kissing his boyfriend, until Cas pulls away with a small laugh, a blush coating his cheeks. Dean shoots Sam a smirk as he releases Cas’ waist so Cas can enter the bathroom, closing the door behind him.  

And with a jolt of guilt Sam realises that neither man had paid attention to their own needs in waiting for Sam to be done with his punishment. And now that he thinks back, he hadn’t heard any ruffling of movement or the opening and closing of the bathroom door which he would expect after a long journey. For the whole ten minutes, both men had probably been sat where Sam found them upon turning from the corner. And dammit, he is not going to cry again.

“Going for food!” Dean calls out making Sam jump out of his thoughts. His brother grabs up the car keys he’d only a minute ago thrown onto the table. “Sammy?” Blinking, Sam turns his gaze up to his brother. “Shower and pj’s on while I’m gone. You’re in bed on time tonight, kiddo.”

Sam’s cheeks heat with the mention of his bedtime. He had really hoped his brother had forgotten all about that. “Dean, I’ve been asleep on and off for most of the day already. You can’t expect me to go to sleep yet,” Sam points out before lowering his voice, just in case someone might be listening in on the other side of thin motel walls as he adds, “and we agreed I wouldn’t have that stupid bedtime on a hunt.”

“When did we agree on that, Sam?” Dean looks upwards slightly before saying, “Oh right, _we_ didn’t. I do remember that _I_ agreed with myself that only on the night of the hunt you’d be exempt from your bedtime.” Dean offers a smile and a pat to Sam’s head that feels to Sam just on the edge of condescending. “Maybe that’s what you’re thinking, buddy.”

“That’s not what you said, Dean!” Sam exclaims in frustration, before remembering where they are and lowers his voice. “And hunts aren’t always consigned to one freaking night.”

“Well that’s too bad for you, Sammy,” Dean responds picking up his gun where he’d also set it on the table and stuffs it in his back waistband. “Cause your butt’s still in bed by ten.”

“No,” Sam replies shortly, rising to his knees and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me?” Dean’s voice is now firm once again, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“You heard me, Dean. I said no. N. O. You’d think you of all people would recognise the word seen as you use it on me often enough!”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth Sam knows instantly the latter part should have stayed locked away in his head. And he bites his bottom lip, doing his best to stay where he is and not shift around under the intense glower he’s now receiving. Even though he would love nothing more than to sit back on his heels where his bottom is reasonably safe from his big brother’s hand. Because he’s already been in trouble tonight. And here he is, not five minutes later, borrowing even more.  

“Pretty sure I didn’t catch that, Sammy,” Dean says, voice a low rumble. “You care to repeat it?”

Crap. If Sam says he doesn’t want to repeat it he’ll be saying no again. And if he does repeat himself he’ll still be saying no. Sam would choose door number three but that would also mean keeping quiet and Dean won’t like that anymore than Sam saying no again. Double crap.

Dean steps up right in front of him. Sam only blinks just the once but clearly long enough for Dean to swiftly reach around him and land his strong hand against Sam’s bottom again.

“Ow,” he yelps, one hand shooting out to brace himself against his big brother’s chest as he wobbles forwards on the bed, the other flying behind him to rub out the sting.

Dean grasps his upper arms, steadying him, and Sam bites his bottom lip again under his brother’s still present grim frown of disapproval. “I really shouldn’t have to warn you for a second time in the space of five minutes, Samuel, but if you keep on giving me attitude like this it won’t get you anything except even more of a sore ass,” Dean tells him firmly. “So I’d really quit while you’re ahead. You have rules. One of which sees you in bed by ten.”

Sam brushes at his moist eyes – stupid, irritating emotions - and keeps his glare to a minimum. “Your new rules suck.”

Dean shakes his head. “These aren’t new rules you’re living, Sam, and you know it. And shut that crap off,” Dean waves a hand towards the bureau.

Sam’s glare shifts to a frown at the abrupt subject change. He looks back to the muted television, realising his channel hopping has landed on a porn channel. “Oh.” He feels his cheeks burn brighter, “I didn’t mean to …”

Dean nods sharply, “I know, kiddo. Just turn it off.”

Holding out the remote to switch channels, Sam sits back on his heels, eyes widening as he has to tilt his head almost upside down to view the images on screen. Dean invades his vision a second later, smacking his hand against the television set to switch it off.

Sam blinks up at him, shifting himself back upright. “Dean, can people _really_ have sex like that?” he questions, knuckling an eye and smothering a yawn. “It didn’t look very… comfortable.”

Dean blinks at him and gives him a strange look Sam can’t decipher. “Right, no more unsupervised TV for you, baby boy,” his brother states sternly, leaning down to pull the plug from the outlet.

“But, Dean, I wanna watch TV,” he whines. “And ‘m not a baby. I have had sex you know. You and Cas demonstrated my knowledge not too long ago in fact.”

“Shut it, Sam. You’re not watching porn. Or anymore Game of Thrones episodes for that matter.”

“What?” Sam stares at his brother flabbergasted. What the hell’s Games of Thrones got to do with anything? “That-that-that-that’s ridiculous, Dean!”  

“No, Sam, it’s not. Because you asking me if people can have sex in that kinda common position… it shows just how innocent you actually are where sex is concerned.”

“Oh,” Sam feels the heat in his cheeks deepen. He hadn’t known that was a common way. Sam shrugs to hide his embarrassment and says, “Guess that means I should just go get more experience then.” He knows his soulless self got in plenty of experience, but Sam shut those memories away a long time ago. He doesn’t do hookers. Dean would smack him.

Speaking of his brother… Dean’s face is twisted into a furious glare, his hands curling up into fists. His mouth opens to say something before he snaps it closed again and storms off.

Sam swiftly pushes himself back up onto his knees, more than confused and worried by his brother’s behaviour. “What’s wrong with you?” he calls after his brother, but the only response he receives is a barked “Get your ass in the shower, Sam!” before the motel door is slamming behind Dean.

“Can’t get my ass in the shower,” Sam flops back on the bed with a huff, dropping an arm over his face. “Cas is still in there.”

Seriously, what kind of bug has crawled up his brother’s butt lately? Dean not appreciating porn is like… well… Sam doesn’t even know what to compare that to. It’s not like Sam would have sat there and watched the thing in front of Dean. That goes against the guy code… or something. He probably wouldn’t even have watched it if Dean wasn’t there either because… Sam bodily shivers, wanting to grab his knife and gouge his eyes out against what he’d just witnessed on screen. Because that was just icky.  

He hears the bathroom door open a moment later, hears Cas enter the main room, but he doesn’t move to shift his arm from his face.  

“Sam, is something the matter?”

“Dean’s being an ass as usual,” Sam grumbles. Dropping his arm down from covering his face, he turns his head towards Cas, watching as the former-angel pours himself a glass of water from the kitchenette faucet. “Cas… do you know why Dean’s got a problem with me where, um,” Sam clears his throat, feels his face heat again, “err, sex is concerned?”  

Cas turns to him still drinking from the glass, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He pulls the glass away after a moment and takes a breath, turning back to the faucet to rinse the glass out. “What would make you draw that conclusion, Sam?” Cas questions over the sound of the water.

“Because he just said as much before he stormed off,” Sam responds, pushing himself into a seated position.

Sam hears Cas sigh before the man sets the glass on the draining board and proceeds to dry his hands. Cas crosses to the queen, absently brushing hair off Sam’s forehead, and sits on the edge thirty seconds later, facing Sam, with one leg tucked under the other thigh. “Sam, you know your brother is protective of you …”

“Overprotective, but carry on.”

Cas is unimpressed by Sam’s interruption if his expression is anything to go by. “Yes. And… as far as you having sex goes, Dean’s feelings on the subject are… muddled. He doesn’t understand why. But he doesn’t like the thought of someone touching you like that. Hurting you. If …”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it!” Sam interrupts, putting his hands up in front of him, trying to actually comprehend what Cas is implying. “Some girl touching me in a sexual way now qualifies as _hurting_ me?”

“It does when you cannot give proper consent.”

Sam blinks, frowns, arch’s his eyebrows, before settling for a deep, _deep_ frown. “Dean thinks I can’t give proper _consent_?” he reiterates slowly. “Really? Because me being a thirty-two year old _man_ doesn’t qualify?”

Cas sighs softly. “You are still very young, Sam. You shouldn’t be thinking or worrying about such things.”

“What the hell, Cas?” Sam jumps up from the bed. “You think I’m too _young_ to be having sex?” he fumes. “Dean thinks that too?”

“Sam …”

Sam shakes his head. Taking the few steps of his long legs needed to reach the bathroom, he enters, slamming and locking the door behind him. Leaning against the door Sam smacks the back of his head against it several times in aggravation. Because what the absolute fuck is going on?

“Sam, please unlock the door.”

Sam debates leaving it locked just to annoy the former-angel. Unfortunately, the only one that move will not benefit will be Sam, especially if Cas tells Dean. Or if Dean gets back before the door is unlocked. Because Sam knows the rule. The one he and Dean have had for as long as Sam can remember, and has now been extended to Cas. You do not put locked doors between family. At least in _this_ family. You can close the door all the way, but not lock it. The only exception they've ever had to that rule was the locks Dean put on the interior of Sam's bedroom door and Sam had had to use to escape a Mark of Cain infused brother.

Sam sighs and unlocks the door.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Running his hands roughly through his hair, Sam lets out another sigh and crosses the short distance to the tub. He quickly works out how to start the shower and switches it on, knowing Dean will be even more pissed if Sam hasn’t made a start on getting showered before he returns. And, god, he really needs to get away from the pair of overprotective doofus’ he’s travelling with and get to a library. Where he can research what could have gotten to Dean _and_ Cas, without either one of them knowing what he’s doing. Because something has obviously gotten into them both.

Suggesting Sam’s too _young_ to be having sex. Seriously? That coming from Dean of all people? Sure, some part of Dean still thinks Sam’s his innocent baby brother, there’s no real leap there, and okay yeah, with some, fine, _most_ things regarding sex, maybe he is. He knows he’s pretty vanilla. But Cas? An ex-angel who only lost his virginity four years ago? Sam shakes his head.

 _An ex-angel who lost his virginity to a very experienced Dean,_ Sam reminds himself with another shiver _. One who has been sleeping with my brother off and on ever since. And clearly very much on now. Damn, Cas probably does now have more sexual experience than I do. Well shit._    

Stripping out of his clothing, he steps in the tub and places his body under the hot spray. It’s a painful mistake and he throws himself backwards out of the spray’s reach with a yelp. And then grunts as his shoulder hits the wall behind him. His too sensitive skin is far from appreciative of being put under that scorching temperature; something he had stupidly forgotten to check before stepping under it.

“Sam, are you okay?!” Cas’ concerned voice calls through the bathroom door a moment later, a knock following.

“I’m fine!” Sam calls back, doing his best to rein in his anger at the man. “Shower’s too hot.”

“Do you need me to assist you with the temperature?”

“No, I can manage.” _I hope._

“Very well. Call me if you do.”

“Whatever,” Sam mumbles.

He tries to shift the showerhead to face the wall and grumbles under his breath a few seconds later upon realising it doesn’t actually move. Leaning down, resting one hand on the bathtub’s rim, he leans to the side, shoulder pushing out the curtain as he tries to reach around to the faucet without burning himself under the spray. His wet hand slips off the bathtub’s rim a moment later, and a gasp of surprise leaves him as he just manages to catch himself from fully toppling out of the bathtub, naked butt over head, by bracing a hand on the floor.  

“Sonuvabitch,” he curses lightly, the edge of the bath digging into his thighs. _Well that was even stupider than not checking the temperature. Good job, Sam._

“Sam?” Cas’ voice calls through the bathroom door again. “Do you need me to come in?”

“No! I’m good!” Sam calls back quickly, far from wanting Cas to witness this embarrassing moment as he struggles to get both feet back onto the bathtub floor without planting his face into the bath rug first.

Finally getting himself upright again, Sam steps out of the tub onto the bath rug. Something he should have done to begin with. He adjusts the faucet to a lower setting, giving the hot water a moment to cool down. He then cautiously places his hand underneath the spray to test the temperature, and grins lightly when he feels it’s a lot cooler, but warm enough for him to shower in. He steps back into the tub, stepping under the spray and quickly runs through his shower, using the motel supplied shampoo and soaps. His anger at what Cas was saying meant Sam hadn’t had the forethought to bring his duffle in the bathroom with him.  

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean swings the Impala back into the same space on The Dove Creek Motel’s parking lot that he only ten minutes ago vacated and shuts off the engine. Grabbing up the bag of takeout and the cup carrier from the passenger seat he climbs from the car, locking the door behind him. He makes a mental note to give her a once over either later tonight or first thing in the morning before they head out again.

Withdrawing the room key from his jacket pocket he opens the door and is immediately greeted with a guilty and glum faced Cas seated on the end of the queen, a bottle of beer in his hand. And no Sammy in sight. Luckily Dean can hear the shower going in the bathroom, because if the kid had taken off …

“What happened?” he questions, dumping the room key, his car keys and the food on the table beside him while giving the room door a kick to close it.

Cas runs a hand over his hair, taking a swig from the beer. “Considering your speedy exit, Sam had questions,” he responds, keeping his voice low. “I may have revealed something he wasn’t ready to hear.”

Well fuck that could be anything. At the moment there are probably over half a dozen things wandering around Dean’s head that he would rather his kid didn’t hear. It doesn't, however, take any ginormous leaps to know this has something to do with his and Sam’s earlier disagreement regarding sex. It was what had seen Dean storm out in the way he usually does when he just can’t deal with talking about something. And normally he would have gone to a bar, but knowing Sammy needs to eat before going to bed was the deciding factor in stopping him from pursuing that course of action tonight. Because this… it isn’t a conversation he wants to have with Sammy. Considering Dean can’t rationalise his own attitude because he has no idea where it’s fucking coming from. He just knows the idea of Sammy having sex… no, just no. He can’t even think about the two components of that equation with any correlation towards each other in his mind anymore.

“You still don’t understand it,” Cas states softly.

Dean snorts. “Do you?” he questions, grabbing out a beer for himself from the cooler, twisting off the cap and taking a swig.

Cas shakes his head. “No.” He sighs. “Sam was having some troubles with the shower. You should check on him.”

Dean sets his beer on the table. Checking on Sammy is something he’s more than capable of doing.

Crossing towards the bathroom he spots Sam’s still closed duffle sitting atop the twin and knows immediately Sam forgot to take anything into the bathroom with him. The kid usually leaves it open after he’s pulled clothing or his washbag out of it. Unzipping the duffle, he pulls out Sam’s nightclothes and fresh boxer-briefs as well as the washbag, before crossing to the bathroom and banging on the door.  

 

#

 

Sam hears a fist banging on the bathroom door a second before the door opens. He knows it’s Dean. Cas wouldn’t barge in the bathroom without Sam’s permission unless there was an actual emergency. Dean, however, doesn’t seem to have the slightest concept of that little thing called privacy. Sam puts it down to the way they grew up, always in each other’s space. And you know, the fact Dean just doesn’t have any boundaries where Sam’s concerned. Sam snorts softly. God, Dean would probably wipe Sam’s butt if he wasn’t getting off the toilet quick enough for Dean’s liking.

“Sam, foods on the table,” Dean says, pulling back the shower curtain halfway. “You nearly …” Dean’s voice trails off and Sam finds himself yanked out from underneath the spray a second later.

“Hey!” Sam yelps.

“What the hell kinda temperature you got that on, Sammy?!” Dean demands.

“A low one,” Sam responds defensively.

“Bet it wasn’t when you got under it though, was it?” Dean snaps, grasping hold of Sam’s right wrist and turns him fully to face Dean, who looks him up and down under a scrutinising gaze before twisting him back around to face the long tiled wall of the tub.

“De-an!” Sam hates that his brother’s name just came out in a whine. “Quit it.”

“Sammy, have you even looked at yourself?” Dean questions, drawing him back around to face front. “You look like a half-cooked freaking lobster. Your skin’s bright red down your left side to the top of your thigh.”

“What? No it’s not,” Sam denies, scrunching his chin up to get a look at his shoulder, down his arm and then his chest and abdomen. Unfortunately it only proves Dean is right; his entire upper left side is one big patch of red. He’s mildly scalded himself on the stupid shower and he didn’t even realise; had thought it hadn’t done any damage. Sam raises his eyes to his brother. “Err… oops?”

“Yeah, kid. Oops. C’mon, out.” Dean holds a towel out to Sam and Sam takes it, wrapping it around his waist before stepping out of the tub. He’s done anyway; he was just rinsing off when Dean came in. “Get dry, but don’t put your shirt and pants on yet. That,” Dean points to the red patch as if it is seriously offending him, “needs ointment.”

“Fine,” Sam huffs. “But my sleep clothes are in my duffle.”

“Try opening your eyes and looking on the closed toilet seat, Sammy.”

Sam turns his gaze to the toilet behind him, noting the clean blue sweats, grey t-shirt and black boxer-briefs sitting atop it. “Oh. Thanks Dean.”

Dean nods on his way back out the bathroom door. Just like that, and as usual, they don’t talk about what transpired only a half hour before. But they will. Because Sam needs to know what the hell that was all about. Along with a long list of other things.

Sam starts drying himself off. By the time he gets to his back his exhaustion sets in, his arms no longer holding the energy to rub the towel over his skin. He gives them a shake, rubbing at each of his biceps – being careful with his left – and gives it another go, happy when he gets his back dried off enough. The remaining dampness will have to air-dry while he has his shirt off. Pulling on his boxer-briefs, he pats at his hair slowly, a yawn escaping him. His arm drops back down to his side, the towel going with it. He sighs, knowing he’s not going to get the excess moisture rubbed out of his hair without assistance. So, towel still in hand, he picks up his t-shirt and sweats and trudges back into the main room.  

Cas frowns the minute he sees the redness covering Sam’s skin. “You should have let me help you with the water temperature, Sam,” he scolds lightly.  

“I managed just fine by myself, thank you,” Sam responds snidely, still pissed about earlier. He feels a hand tap against his butt and he blinks over his shoulder at his brother.

“Watch the attitude remember,” Dean reprimands again, holding the new tube of burn ointment in his left hand. “That goes towards Cas, too, not just me.”

Sam glances over to Cas who has returned to the table, sorting out takeout containers from a brown bag, his shoulders hunched. Sam feels only mildly apologetic for his behaviour. He doesn’t think on it anymore because Dean’s sitting down on the end of the queen and grasping Sam by the wrist, bringing him to stand between Dean’s open legs.

Dean squirts some of the ointment on his fingers before easing it into Sam’s skin. Sam hisses lightly, unconsciously taking a step back. He hadn’t realised before that it is actually quite sore. But Dean just draws Sam back towards him, fingers still rubbing in the ointment just as they should be. Sam knows that. His skin is sore, it needs the ointment. He just hadn’t been expecting the soreness.

Dean’s fingers reach his lower half, pausing only briefly to shuck Sam’s boxers down past his left hip to get to the remaining red patch. Sam’s about sixty percent sure a squeak did _not_ just leave his mouth as he hurriedly uses the towel to hide the sudden exposure of half his bottom from Cas. He glares down at his brother.

Dean raises eyes to him, his face clearly and silently saying, ‘how else were you expecting me to get to this patch?’, and Sam has the prudence to drop his glare. Dean wouldn’t think about taking him back into the bathroom; they’re used to it just being the two of them in a motel room the majority of the time. He can’t lay any blame upon Dean for that. He himself hadn’t even thought about remaining in the bathroom and getting Dean to put the ointment on in there. Sam just needs to get past his own shyness in front of Cas. Because he doubts this will be the last time he ends up having those parts of him exposed in front of the man.

Dean finishes up a minute later, righting Sam’s boxers. Sam shifts back to allow Dean to stand to go to the bathroom to wash the excess ointment from his hands. Dropping both his t-shirt and the towel on the bed, Sam pulls on his sweats and then slips his arms into his bed shirt, pulling it over his head and down his torso. Picking the towel back up, Sam glances over his shoulder towards Cas still silently situating their takeout.

“Um, Cas?” Sam says, his voice holding a shyness he hasn’t felt in some time.

Cas turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, Sam?”

Sam holds out the towel towards him, chewing on his bottom lip before saying, “Will you …?”

Cas smiles lightly, setting down the take out carton in his hold onto the table, and steps towards Sam. Cas takes the towel from him and Sam sits down on the end of the bed, tipping his head forward slightly. He feels Cas drape the towel over his head and start rubbing it over his hair in gentle pressure movements. Sam wants to laugh because that’s not gonna take any of the moisture out of his hair before their dinner is ice cold, but refrains. He doesn’t want to upset Cas again.

“Put a little more effort into it, Cas.” Dean on the other hand clearly has no qualms, his voice holding the amusement Sam feels. He can just make out his brother’s booted feet in the bathroom doorway, one resting over the other. “You won’t hurt him.”  

“Are you sure?” Cas’ voice is unsure.

“I’ve done it enough times, Cas, I’m sure.”

“Right,” Cas’ voice is now focused and the pressure increases, hands beginning to rub roughly over Sam’s hair.

Thirty seconds later the towel is lifted. Sam raises his head, his hair covering his face. Dean snorts a laugh and Sam can see through the strands of hair that Cas is also amused. Sam smiles up at the man, brushing the hair out of his face.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Sam.”

“Food now,” Dean intones as he crosses to the kitchenette table, joining Cas in finishing the sorting of the takeout.

Sam snorts, crossing to his bed and grabbing his hairbrush, running it through his hair, before setting it back in his duffle.

“Got you nuggets and fries, Sammy. Oh and this thing,” Dean holds up a small salad tub, before setting it down next to the open takeaway container holding Sam’s food.

“Thanks,” Sam slides into the chair on the right, the one furthest from the door that Cas once again occupies.

Sam looks up at Dean as his brother shakes out a napkin and slips it into the collar of Sam’s bed-shirt, securing it into place. Sam wants nothing more than to remove it when his brother grabs up his own container of food and moves away to sit on the edge of the queen. But Dean will only put it back and they would be here all night going back and forth with a stupid napkin. Plus, Sam’s hungry. He just wants to eat. So he leaves the stupid napkin where it is.

“Did you get any sauce?” Sam questions around a fry.

“In the bag,” Dean points to the brown bag that had housed the food.

Sam pulls it towards him, peering inside, before digging his hand in and drawing out several green sweet-n-sour pots. He’s surprised his brother remembers he prefers sweet-n-sour with nuggets rather than ketchup or BBQ sauce, seen as it’s been a good long time since Sam last had nuggets. Some of his previous anger towards his brother dwindles at the gesture. “Thanks, Dean,” he says quietly as he pulls the film from the pot, squishing a fry into the yellowish-brown liquid before bringing it to his mouth.

“May I?”

Sam looks at Cas, who’s face holds an intrigued expression as he stares at Sam’s sauce. Sam contemplates saying no, but he throws a glance at his brother, knowing you either hate this stuff or love it and Dean is one of those who surprisingly hates it. But Cas? Sam sniggers inwardly as Dean gives him a minute nod, a small grin on his brother’s lips.

“Sure.” Sam holds out the plastic pot to Cas and Cas dips one of his fries inside, draws it away and pops it in his mouth. Sam laughs as the former-angel’s face twists into an expression of disgust five seconds later, Cas quickly grabbing up his soda and fastening his lips around the straw.

Dean snorts around his burger, pulling it away to laugh properly. “You’re a man after my own heart, Cas.”

“That was vulgar,” Cas says after pulling the straw of his soda from his mouth. “How can you even eat that, Sam?”

“It’s delicious,” Sam says with a grin, dipping a whole nugget thoroughly in the sauce before popping it in his mouth and chewing. “Mm-mm-mm.”  

“Trust me, Cas, Sammy’s got weird taste buds.”

“Says the man that will practically eat anything,” Sam retorts after swallowing his mouthful.  

“Yeah, but not that crap.”

Sam grins lightly, grabbing up his cup and giving a pull on his straw, surprised when banana milkshake fills his mouth. He hasn’t had that in ages either. But there was one time when he was younger, where for a good few weeks banana milkshake was all he wanted. He never would have thought he’d have missed the taste, but he finds it delicious. Setting his ‘shake back on the table a moment later, Sam picks up one of his fries, dips it in his sauce and pops it in his mouth.

“I’m done,” he says, pushing away his container; a handful of fries, six of his nine nuggets and some lettuce leaves from his salad pot remaining within. He wants to read at least one chapter of his book tonight to relax his mind before Dean sends him to bed, and at this rate he is only going to get fifteen minutes to do that.

Dean looks up, surveys Sam’s food and shakes his head. “Three more mouthfuls, and then you’re done.”

“Dean, c’mon, I’m full,” Sam complains only for his stomach to betray him with a loud grumble at that very precise moment.

“That doesn’t sound very much like your full, little one,” Cas states with an amused smile as Sam drops his gaze downwards to glare at his tummy.

“Eat your fries and three nuggets, Sammy. Then you can go read like you want to,” Dean instructs, knowing him too well.

Sam huffs, but does as instructed, scooping up the last of his sweet-n-sour sauce with his third nugget. Finished, Sam pulls the napkin out of his collar and jumps up, intending to move around the queen bed to get to his duffle. His brother gets a hold of him first though and he’s pulled down to sit on Dean’s left knee, his wrists being held loosely in front of him by one of Dean’s hands.

“Dee-an,” Sam whines.

“Sa-am,” Dean whines back at him.

“Let me up.”

“Nope. Hands and face washed first.”

“I don’t need …” but his protest is futile because Cas is right there in front of him with a baby wipe.

Sam squirms as much as Dean’s hold will allow as the moisturised cloth is wiped over his face just as Dean had done with that cloth back in the bunker kitchen; Cas’ fingers paying particular attention to Sam’s mouth, chin and lower cheeks.

 _Honestly, I couldn’t have eaten that messily_ , Sam scoffs inwardly.

Cas turns his attention to Sam’s hands next and Sam realises why Dean’s holding them out like he is. There’s sticky sauce all over his fingers and palms. His cheeks heat up, eyes flickering over to his discarded napkin amongst his leftovers and spots the patches of smeared sauce upon it. He’d been sure he hadn’t made that much of a mess. He shyly glances sideways at his brother as Cas starts cleaning each finger.

“It’s all right, Sammy,” Dean says, reading Sam’s embarrassment easily. “You were enjoying your food, kiddo.” _Yeah, and making a mess like a two-year-old feeding himself,_ Sam thinks scathingly. “You’re allowed to get messy,” Dean continues, “it’s all cleanable, kiddo.”

 _Except I’m a big boy, I shouldn’t be getting messy during meal times anymore._ With that thought Sam promises himself to concentrate more on eating and not making such a mess in the future. No wonder Dean put the napkin in his collar like some freaking makeshift bib.

“There. All done,” Cas offers Sam a smile before crossing to the kitchenette trashcan to dump the wipe.

“Go on, geek-boy, go read,” Dean stands Sam up from his knee and sends him to the twin bed with a pat to his bottom.

Still trying to quell his embarrassment, Sam is happy to move away from his brother and Cas, even if it is only by a few feet. He’d ideally like to go out the motel door, go for a walk or something to clear his head, but he knows his brother won’t allow it. Instead, he unzips the side pocket of his duffle and draws out his book. Sitting down on his bed, he makes himself comfortable against the headboard. Unfortunately, his concentration is blown and he’s read the same sentence at least six times before he realises. Replacing his makeshift bookmark acquired from a matchbook, he closes the book and sets it on his bed beside him with a sigh.

Turning his gaze to the queen bed his brother and Cas are seated on, there are several guns spread out on the covers between them, a small towel holding the shotgun that’s now in several pieces. Damn. Sam’s itching to get out of the room, but Dean and Cas are clearly in the midst of a lesson; Dean continuing to teach Cas how to properly clean and maintain the weapons. Sam knows better than to interrupt a lesson unless he has something to add. Which he doesn’t. Dean’s a brilliant teacher; he’s the one who taught Sam all he knows.  

Chewing on his bottom lip, Sam stands, slipping his feet into his boots. He crosses over to the kitchenette and pours himself a small glass of water. Chugging it back, he sets the glass in the sink, before he calmly takes the two steps to the motel door, quietly picking up his winter jacket off the back of the nearest chair as he does. His fingers have just curled around the doorknob when …

“Going somewhere, Sammy?”

… Dean’s voice interrupts his silent escape.

Sam half turns, just enough so he’s looking at his brother. “For a walk?” Sam mentally kicks himself. He had not intended for that to come out as a question. He had meant to be forceful, stating to his brother very plainly that he _is_ going for a walk. But now that’s out the window.

“Uh-huh. And where’s this walk taking you?”

Huh. Okay. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. Sam’s hope rises. Maybe Dean will let him go out there after all. “Just round the front of the room, maybe the parking lot. Just get some fresh air,” he shrugs.

“Okay.”

“Dean, I’ll be real careful, I swear. No going beyond …”

“Sam,” Cas interrupts loudly, catching Sam’s attention, “your brother said you can go.”

Sam’s eyes almost bug out of his head in surprise as he stares from one man to the other. Dean said… “Wait, really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dean nods, clearly amused. “You’ve got twenty minutes before bedtime, so you can go for a ten minute walk. And only as far as the Impala. And leave the motel door open.”

Sam knows ‘as far as the Impala’ actually means he can walk a route directly to the Impala and back again without detours, but he’ll definitely take it. If he kicks up a fuss Dean will probably tell him he can’t go five feet in front of the door. He has an irrational need to hug his brother for the second time tonight, but he ignores it and instead bursts out the motel door, being careful to ensure its left open as instructed.

Breathing in the fresh air, Sam pulls on his jacket, zips it up and takes his time walking the path to the Impala. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, his brother either standing at the window looking out, or blatantly standing at the door watching him. A smile flits across Sam’s lips. Overprotective doofus. But something inside of him lights up at the knowledge Dean’s there, watching out for him, even just for a simple walk. And Sam thinks maybe sometimes he should just savour being the baby brother instead of arguing about everything.

Reaching the Impala, he decides to pull himself up onto the hood to lean back against the windshield so he can stare up at the sky.

“No stars,” Sam comments quietly five minutes later, now more relaxed than his book was going to allow.

He easily recognises the approaching footsteps as belonging to his brother. He flicks his gaze down briefly at Dean now standing beside the car, beer bottle in his grasp, before returning his gaze to the night sky.

“Too much cloud cover tonight,” Dean observes just as quietly into the calm of the night.

Sam feels Dean’s hand squeeze his ankle a second before his big brother joins him on the hood, one leg leaning over the side as Dean remains upright instead of resting against the windshield like Sam. Dean too directs his gaze upwards, swigging from his beer as comfortable silence descends between them. A while later, Sam’s pretty sure his ten minutes have passed, maybe even his bedtime, yet Dean remains where he is.

And Sam hates to interrupt the silence but he needs to know what happened earlier. If what Cas had voiced holds any weight of truth in his brother. That is if Dean will even permit the conversation and not storm away like before. Hell, Sam doesn't want to have this conversation because it borders on the insane, but he needs to. And hopefully the comfortable atmosphere around them will allow them both to keep their tempers in check.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy?” Dean responds quietly without lowering his gaze from the sky.

“Cas... err... said some things earlier.”

Dean now lowers his gaze, sighing against his beer bottle, the small gust of air blowing over the glass rim causing a soft whistle to puff across it. “Yeah, I know.” Dean runs a hand over his hair. “And I know you got questions, Sammy… but I don’t know if I can even justify what a good answer would be right now.” _So there is truth to it_ , Sam silently observes, _Dean thinks I’m too young to being having sex. Shit, what the hell am I meant to do with that?_ “Though… I guess while we’re on the sex topic …” Dean continues, and Sam can detect a slight caution to his tone, “… did Cas mention anything about you being a virgin, Sammy?”

“Nooo,” Sam responds slowly with a frown, “because I’m not a virgin. That whole thing with Vesta was bogus. It doesn’t count.”

“Well… apparently it counted with somebody,” Dean looks at him sideways and Sam’s frown deepens. “When I was a demon and after, you had an underlying scent beyond the normal that I couldn’t figure out ...”

“Should I be finding it weird that you even know my scent?” Sam can’t help but question.

“Probably,” Dean shrugs undisturbed by the fact. “Anyway, after the blood cure I could still smell it because of the Mark enhancing my senses and it got to the point it was bugging the crap outta me, so… I talked to Cas about it. Didn’t mention you by name, just explained the scent. Though he knows it’s you now.” Dean pauses, frowns, and continues. “You remember that one time Caleb took us to that big-ass candy store in New York?”

Sam smiles lightly, though he’s not sure what a candy store has to do with their current topic of conversation. “Yeah. Caleb bought us both a whole bag of pick ‘n’ mix candy because neither of us knew what to get in such a huge store. And it lasted for ages because you’d only let me eat two or three pieces a day.”

“That’s right,” Dean nods softly in remembrance. “You used to throw up if you ate more candy than that in one sitting. I just learnt to ration it for you more than I already did. You’d still get the same, but spaced out further. Because as much as you love the stuff it’s not good for your stomach. A lot of things weren’t back then. But do you recall the sweet smell of all that candy?”

If Sam closes his eyes on occasion he _can_ recall that aroma he had committed to memory only because it’s a bi-product of the awe he had seen in his big brother’s eyes on that day. Something, in his then ten years of life, Sam had never been witness to before in his brother. It was the very moment Sam had realised his big brother, his hero, had never gotten to be a child the way Dean had gone out of his way to ensure Sam got to be. He clears his throat, fighting back the lump the memory always brings, and nods.

“That’s the closest similarity I can think of to explain the scent of a virgin, Sammy. And that’s who Cas said the scent belonged to; a virgin. Well actually he said ‘the innocence of childhood’ first, and I had to get him to clarify.” Dean shakes his head. “Point is… that bells been un-rung for you, Sammy. That scent wouldn’t belong to you if you _weren’t_ a virgin.”

Sam blinks, unsure if he can comprehend what his brother’s actually telling him. He’s… a virgin again. Why …? What …? How the hell does someone get that kind of all-inclusive do-over without physically having a new body? Oh god … Sam’s eyes widen, his pulse quickening, and he moves to sit up, but a hand is on his chest is stilling him in place. He blinks at his brother.

“Relax and breathe, kiddo.” Dean instructs, having read him like a book. Sam takes a breath and blows it out, repeating the process twice more before he feels his pulse returning to normal speed. “I tested you,” Dean assures, patting Sam's chest lightly before slowly withdrawing his hand. “You were catching a few zzz’s at the time. Not that it was really necessary. I’ve come to learn and recognise when I’m dealing with monsters who think they can pull off being you in front of me. And safe to say you’re you, kiddo.”

Sam breathes out another silent sigh of relief, ticking that one off his mental check list. Though he’s pretty sure he would have already been in a world of hurt or worse over a year and a half ago if he wasn’t the real Sam Winchester. And if Sam found out his brother was a full-on virgin again (though undoubtedly it wouldn’t last long enough for Sam to find out to begin with), he would have done the same thing and questioned whether his brother was really his brother.

“I know my body’s been put through the ringer over the past few years, but who has that kind of juice?” Sam questions quietly. “Demons wouldn’t get anything out of it, except to maybe use me in some ritual requiring a, err, virgin, but I think they would’ve gotten around to it by now. Angels…” Sam stops, his mind crashing into the memories of what was unknowingly going on during that case with Vesta. “There was an angel inside of me when I made that ‘pledge’, Dean,” Sam quietly reminds his brother. “Maybe it’s something they can do. Cas should know.”

“Crap. I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean says quietly.

“Don’t be.” Dean turns his head to stare at him over his shoulder. Sam shrugs lightly, he means it. “I was mad then. Real mad. But I can’t blame you for wanting to save my life. Not anymore. Not when neither one of us seems to understand the phrase ‘let me go’.”

Dean flinches fractionally at the reminder and takes a swig of his beer as he returns his gaze to the sky. “Don’t think that’s something I’ll ever be prepared to understand where you’re concerned, Sammy. It just ain’t in my nature.”

Watching his brother as Dean views the dark clouds, Sam has to wonder if Dean yet understands it isn’t in Sam’s nature either. His whole life he’s learnt by his big brother; they’ve had their disagreements, fights, major blow outs even, but at the end of the day they’ve stuck together. They wouldn’t be sitting here together if they didn’t. And just as Dean will do anything for Sam, Sam will do anything necessary for his brother. He _has_ done what's necessary. Sam has had to _survive_ without his brother before and it’s not something he cares to repeat.

“Is this part of it, Dean? This thing about me having sex.” With the way they’re sitting it’s easy for Sam to notice how Dean’s jaw muscle tightens at only the mere mention of Sam having sex. It lasts only a moment before Dean blows out a light breath, the air whipping over the beer bottle again and causing another whistle.  

“Partly, yeah, I guess,” Dean finally admits. “There’s a lot of shit in my head at the moment that I …” he trails off with a shake of his head; sighs again. “I just need to figure it out, kid.” Dean turns his head to eye Sam. “You reckon you can give me the time to do that, Sammy?”  

Sam sighs inwardly. He wants to be told what else is going on in his brother’s mind. He wants the answers. It’s frustrating not to have them. But he knows he has no right to ask or demand that of his brother when Sam himself isn’t ready to spill the beans about what’s going on in his own head.

“I’ll try, Dean,” Sam says, his fingers unconsciously finding the tag on his jacket zipper and starts playing with it. “Just… this wasn’t something you thought before the spell, was it? That I’m too ‘young’ I mean, not my being a, um, virgin.”

Dean shakes his head. He’s quiet for a moment before he finally turns himself fully to look at Sam. “You think there’s a connection?”

“I think we still know very little about the spell’s aftereffect’s even though I’ve researched it six ways to Sunday,” Sam responds. “What the benefit is of making you think that way, if it even is the spell …” Sam shrugs, “… I dunno. But I feel like the spell has _connected_ us and Cas in a way we’ve never been before. Obviously. But, I just don’t know how, or even what the end result is going to be for us …”

“How it’s gonna play out,” Dean states quietly.

“Yeah.” Sam lets out a sigh, scrubbing at an eye with his fist. “Do you reckon we’re actually gonna find Rowena, Dean?”

This time when Dean looks at him there’s reassurance in his eyes. “Hell yes. There ain’t much crap out there we’ve hunted that we haven’t been able to find, kiddo. We’ll find her. We’ll get what information she can give us.”

“Then kill her?”

Dean shrugs, taking another swig of beer. “Depends on how helpful she can be. And what’s this aversion you seem to have against ganking her, Sammy?”

“Oh, I don't have an aversion to it,” Sam smirks lightly. “It's just she pisses Crowley off a lot more than we do.”

Dean snorts. “Ain’t that the truth.”

They once again descend into silence, just watching the starless night sky. It’s only when Sam’s eyes start drooping that he feels Dean pat him on the side of the leg.

“C’mon. Bedtime for you.” Sam groans. “Hey now, enough of that,” Dean scolds lightly as he slips down from the hood, before turning around and grasping Sam’s wrist, pulling him upright and away from the windshield. “If you’re quick with brushing your teeth and taking a leak, I’ll read you some of your book.”

Sam stills momentarily from slipping off the hood the opposite side to his brother. A part of him wants to do the opposite of Dean’s offer and take his sweet time taking care of business before getting into bed. Because that’s what he should do as an adult not needing a bedtime story to go to sleep. But another - admittedly larger - part of him wants to race across the parking lot into the motel and jump into bed without peeing or brushing his teeth so he has more time to enjoy something Dean hasn’t done in years. One or the other… one or the other… the middle ground decides it’s going to win after a momentary battle and Sam slips the rest of the way off the hood.

 

#

 

The offer rolls off Dean’s tongue before any thought has been placed behind it. And he’s surprised to find he means it. He _wants_ to read to Sammy. But he also moves to retract it because he isn’t willing to stand here and see that judgemental bitchface Sam gets when he clearly thinks Dean’s being an idiot. And offering to read to your Sasquatch-sized baby brother is bound to draw that look out. Except… that look isn’t present. He instead witnesses a spark of delight in Sammy’s eyes that stills Dean; almost takes his breath the same way the kid’s look of longing for a pacifier had back in the store.

Because it reminds him of the days Sammy’s entire face would light up with joy whenever Dean would read to him. Even when the kid was more than capable of reading to himself; and at a quicker pace than his big brother. The kid would devour books, absorbing the knowledge found within its pages like a sponge.

Which became tricky the first time a visit was paid to Bobby’s after Sammy’s reading ability fully flourished. And though Sammy knew what books of Bobby’s he could touch (the small donated shelfful of kid’s books in their shared bedroom that were not actually donated by anyone save Bobby’s pocket), and what Sammy couldn’t touch (every other book in that house), Bobby had still spent the best part of a day lugging books not in the slightest way suitable for Sammy’s eyes up out of the inquisitive kid’s reach.

Those books stayed out of Sammy’s reach until the kid returned to hunting at twenty-two. Even then Dean had seen Bobby’s reluctance to allow what was lamely referred to as ‘the dangerous collection’ anywhere near Sammy’s hands. Only a subtle nod from Dean had seen Sammy get his hands on the _Key of Solomon_ ; their first introduction to the beauty that is devils traps, and a member of that collection. It had nothing to do with Sam’s ability as a hunter, and everything to do with Bobby being a big and silent softie when it came to protecting the squirt of a kid he had helped raise. Despite that squirt standing a good five inches taller than the grizzled hunter.

Only one or two more books from that collection had made their way into Sammy’s hands; Bobby always saying Sam would get his hands on the rest of that collection over his dead body. Hell, even Dean hadn’t seen several of that collection until the man passed, when Sam inherited the originals not burnt in the fire and the copies of those that were. And, shit, Dean’s chest aches, he can’t think about Bobby right now.

As Sammy slips off the hood and joins him at the front of the Impala, he notices mischievousness settle in beside that spark in his eyes. And Dean knows why a second later when his baby brother opens his mouth.

“You think you’ll manage the big words, Dean?” Sammy teases, though there is a hint of caution as if the kid is unsure how well the words will be received.

Dean allows a gasp of playful horror escape his lips to show he’s not offended. Why would he be? It’s just teasing. Something they do all the time. But he also doesn’t want worry or panic overtaking those looks in his baby brother’s eyes. He’d keep those negative emotions out of his kid’s eyes forever if he could. “Who was it that taught _you_ to read?”

“My imaginary friend,” Sammy says, his lips turning up into a half-smirk.

The response draws a chuckle from Dean, who grasps hold of his kid’s shoulders and spins him around before using both his hands to swat lightly at Sammy’s rump. “Get, you little brat.”    

A half smile curve’s Dean’s lips upwards as he listens to Sammy’s laugh while the kid jogs towards their room. It’s an almost carefree sound; one not heard too often anymore and Dean decides he’s going to try and get his kid to laugh more often. Dean glances once more up at the dark sky, three stars making an appearance between the brief moment of one cloud shifting and another taking its place.

The sound of the toilet flushing in their room draws him back down to earth and he crosses the parking lot and enters their room, closing the door behind him. After checking Sammy’s still in the bathroom, Dean leans down close to Cas sitting at the table, the road atlas spread open in front of him.  

“The I-80W and I-84 are the most direct routes from here,” Dean says quietly, tracing a line on the map with his finger from Cheyenne, across to Utah, up the lower left corner of Idaho, across the upper right corner of Oregon until hitting Portland and then straight up to Olympia, Washington State.

“I thought you dislike using interstates?” Cas questions quietly, turning his gaze to him, and Dean can’t resist kissing the full lips.

“I don’t,” Dean says pulling back slightly as he hears the bathroom door open. “I said it’s the most direct route. Didn’t say we’ll be going that way,” Dean smirks, placing a kiss to Cas’ neck, over the pulse point and feels it quicken against his lips, deliciously knowing it’s one of Cas’ sensitive spots.

“Ah…” Cas gasps, “… ri-right.” Cas shifts uncomfortably in his seat and quickly glances over to Sam exiting the bathroom. “You’re a bastard,” Cas hisses sideways at Dean. Dean chuckles lowly and straightens. Cas clears his throat. “All ready for bed, Sam?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hums, thankfully oblivious to the sound of arousal Dean easily detects in Cas’ voice.

Dean shifts out of his winter jacket as his kid takes the few steps needed to reach his bed and climbs in, saying goodnight to Cas as he does.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Cas returns. Dean throws him a smirk, Cas glare’s back at him.

Picking up Sammy’s book from the floor where Sammy unceremoniously dumped it to get under the covers – such sacrilege Sammy! - Dean pats his kid’s leg with it. Sammy scoots over the mattress, shifting onto his side with his back resting against the wall. The twin really is too small for Sam’s long body but the kid has slept on much worse over the years, and sometimes not even a bed. But they’ve learnt to make do with what they have or are given, because a hunter’s life doesn’t make for great accommodations. And until they found the bunker, a stay at Bobby’s had been the luxury they didn’t get on a general basis. Hell, that place had been their haven. And there he goes thinking about Bobby again. Dammit.  

At least Sammy’s lean but muscular build doesn’t take up the entirety of the mattress when he lays on his side, leaving space enough for Dean on the outer edge, his back to the headboard and jean-clad legs crossed at the ankles. Opening Sammy’s book to the page marked with the front of a torn matchbook, Dean holds the book in his right hand, while he rests his left arm on the pillow above Sammy’s head, the silent invitation open if his kid wants to accept. He starts to read, voice a lot deeper and gruffer since last he read to his baby brother at bedtime, back when it was a nightly occurrence. Or at least it was when the routine wasn’t disturbed.

By the time Dean reaches the end of the first page, Sammy has shifted his head to rest on Dean’s arm. Glancing down at him, the thumb is once again enveloped within pouty lips, and a corner of the blanket is tucked up against Sammy’s cheek just as the kid used to do with his comfort blanket. He blinks slowly up at Dean, before looking to the book and tapping the page with a finger, a silent indicator for Dean to continue because Sammy doesn’t want to take his thumb out.  

“I need to turn the page, little dude. Unless _you’d_ care to…”

Sam shakes his long head of hair, before digging that same head deeper against Dean’s arm and pushing it into the pillow. Dean rolls his eyes, lifting both his arm and Sammy, who lands on Dean’s chest with Dean’s arm enfolding him as he turns the page, and a satisfied huff of breath leaves the kid.

“Lazy,” Dean comments softly, with a kiss to the top of his kid’s head. “Don’t drool on me.” Sammy tilts his head backwards, grinning mischievously around his thumb, before going back to positioning himself so his right ear rests directly over Dean’s heart. “I mean it.” Sammy ignores him in favour of raising his hand from between them to smack against the book, before returning it to where it was. “All right, quit being impatient. And shut your eyes and go to sleep while you’re at it or no more book.” Dean smirks a second later, practically hearing the kid’s eyelashes crashing together.

 _Huh,_ _so that still works,_ he thinks as he continues to read.

Sammy’s breathing has evened out into sleep only a page later and Dean quietly closes the book, resting it on his thigh. He silently savours the feel of Sammy’s ribcage rising and falling against his side for a long moment before he feels his partner’s eyes on him for the tenth time since he started reading.  

“Feeling better are we?” Dean smirks, staring at Cas’ erection free crotch.

Cas stares at him. “You’re good at that, Dean,” he says quietly, a touch of amazement in his tone as he holds out one of the motel supplied ceramic mugs to Dean.

“What? Turning you on?” Dean snorts, moving the book to the almost non-existent nightstand next to him so he can take the proffered beverage from Cas.

“No, not _that_ , Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes. “I mean that,” Cas indicates the book.

That statement and the earlier one are ambiguous enough for Dean not to know if Cas is referring to Dean’s ability to read more than a few sentences without throwing the book, or his reading putting Sammy to sleep. Neither is he going to ask. So he shrugs, “Had a lot of practice.” He stares down at the watery-brown liquid within the mug now in his hold before raising it to his nose and giving it a sniff. His nose instinctively scrunches up to get away from the pungent odour. “What the hell is this?”

“Tea,” Cas supplies, staring at him mildly amused as he takes a seat on the closest edge of their bed.

“Tea?” Dean grimaces. Tea on his taste buds reminds him of drinking African Dream Root. “The motel cheap out on coffee or something?”

“You need sleep, Dean, not caffeine.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“You haven’t even tried it.”

“And I don’t intend to anytime soon.” Dean holds out the mug to Cas, who rolls his eyes, but takes it and stands.

“Sam’s more than happy to drink tea,” Cas comments when he reaches the kitchenette, pouring the disused drink down the sink.

“Already told you the kid’s got weird taste buds,” Dean replies as he carefully extricates himself from Sammy and settles his sleeping kid back onto the pillow. “Like you clearly have as well, Cas,” he adds, pulling the blanket back over Sammy’s shoulders and leaning down to place a kiss to his baby brother’s forehead.

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

“Earlier I was talking about sweet-n-sour sauce. Not some shitty tea.”

“You really should watch your language around the little one, Dean,” Cas tells him disapprovingly.

Dean rolls his eyes, stretching his arms above his head. “The little one is sound asleep,” he says, crossing over to the motel table and dropping down into a chair. “I don’t have to watch anything.” Cas glowers at him and Dean grins, wrapping his fingers around Cas’ closest wrist and tugs. Cas yelps lightly, falling sideways until he lands right where Dean wants him; on his lap. “Thought you liked my mouth, Cas?”  

 

**#SPN#**

 

Despite his own tiredness, it’s gone one a.m. by the time Dean closes the laptop and wearily scrubs a hand down his face. His eyes trail to Cas zonked out on their bed. Dean had told him to hit the hay over an hour ago and his former-angel had fallen asleep barely thirty seconds after his head hit the pillow. And Sammy dropping off as quickly as he had during his bedtime story had allowed time for Dean and Cas to quietly talk about this shared weapon issue. Not that that had gotten them anywhere. There’s just no understanding to it. Or Dean’s aversion to Sammy having sex. That makes even _less_ sense. The why? Is Sam right in it being the spell? Dean hasn’t a fucking clue.

And the research hasn’t helped to get him any further than the point he started. Because it seems like recording the aftereffects of spells used by people, witches, whatever, is just too much of a fucking hardship. Regardless of the fact it might be useful information to others down the line. But no. There’s fuck all available that they haven’t already read in the Men of Letters library or read online a million times. And jack-shit on the spell Sammy used to cure him.

Which means they’re betting considerable time on finding the redheaded skank of a witch and hoping she’ll willingly help them with some answers. Which, when she’s made it abundantly clear that she hates the Winchester’s as much as she hates her son, could be just that little bit tricky. And having both Cas and Sammy telling him – _reminding him_ \- he can’t gank her, doesn’t mean Dean can’t do a hell of a lot of threatening, and more. Because she _will_ talk. Even if they have to find somewhere nice and cosy to lock her up. Somewhere outside of the bunker dungeon. Because as Sam’s pointed out to him before, the power wrapped up in protecting the bunker would be a goldmine to someone like Rowena if she could get her hands on it. And when you can’t fight that kind of logic, it takes that route completely off the cards.

Dean pushes up from his chair at the small table and stretches. With the laptop closed, the only source of light now in the room is coming through the cracked bathroom door so Sammy doesn’t wake to pitch darkness. And as the sun doesn’t rise this late in November until roughly seven a.m. and Dean intends to be on the road again around six, it will still be dark when Sammy wakes.

His kid hasn’t yet stirred. Though he’s most definitely been his mumbling, fidgeting self. Sammy doing his usual thing of half hanging off the bed. The kid’s now on his stomach halfway down the twin, face turned away from Dean towards the wall; one long leg is caught on the armchair sitting at the end of the bed, while the other hangs off the beds edge along with the blankets. One arm is tucked around his pillow that is bunched against his side in the same way Sammy used to hold onto his stuffed toy. And it crosses Dean’s mind about getting the kid a new stuffy along with that pacifier as it’s not the first time recently he’s seen Sammy cuddling his pillow.

Crossing the floor, Dean carefully unhooks Sammy’s leg before kicking the chair away with his foot. He lifts the other leg back onto the bed and then grasps his kid under the arms, easing him up the mattress until he rests back at the head of the bed. Sammy shifts, lifting his head and turning it to face Dean, eyes still closed and a little mewl leaves his throat as he sets his head back down, pouting lips seeking out his thumb. Dean gently raises the kid’s left hand, situating the thumb to Sammy’s mouth and the kid latches on and starts suckling, mumbling as he does. Dean smiles lightly, brushing a hand over his kid’s head gently, before pulling the blankets up and tucking Sammy back in.  

Moving into the bathroom, Dean takes a leak and brushes his teeth, before he returns to the main room, closing the bathroom door until its left ajar. Stripping off his outer shirt and jeans, he slips under the covers next to his sleeping partner, spooning around Cas and placing a kiss to his shoulder. Cas stirs slightly, one leg shifting in between Dean’s and his hand joining Dean’s now resting on his stomach. It isn’t long before Dean joins both his partner and baby brother in sleep.

 

#

 

Dean shoots up out of his bed before his eyes are fully open, knife retrieved from beneath his pillow and gun swiped from the table when the sounds of his baby brother’s terrified screams pierce the air. Cas is on his feet seconds after him, angel blade firmly in hand and ready to fight whatever threat is attacking Sammy. They quickly realise no outside force is at work, but Sammy’s own mind attacking him with a nightmare. Sammy’s legs and arms are flailing, smacking into the wall and barely-there nightstand. And clearly visible in the bathroom light is the blood running from the kid’s nose.

Gun and two blade’s hit the thrown back covers of the queen. And while Dean rushes to Sam’s bed, glancing at his watch to note the time – barely an hour since Dean went to sleep - Cas goes for the bathroom, banging the door open in his rush. Dean manages to get a good grip on his thrashing baby brother and quickly sits Sammy up, tilting his head slightly forward so the blood is only flowing down Sam’s nose and not his throat, all the while calling his kid’s name to get him to wake up. Cas sticks a towel under Sam’s nose so its catching the blood rather than the blankets.

“Not right under,” Dean instructs, his voice still gruff from sleep, and Cas lowers the towel to Sam’s chin. “Need you to pinch the fleshy part of his nose just above his nostrils.” He watches as Cas does as instructed and that’s when Sam snaps awake, frantically shaking his head out of Cas’s grasp on his nose with a cry, the back of his head hitting Dean straight in the side of his face. Dean winces, but completely ignores the pain now blossoming across his cheekbone in favour of calming down his kid. “Sam! Hey, hey, hey! Sammy, calm down, it’s Dean and Cas! It’s us! You’re okay, baby. You’re safe!”

Sam stills at the sound of Dean’s voice, turns his head to the side to look at Dean and bursts into tears. Heart skipping a beat, Dean immediately pulls him backwards onto his lap wanting to comfort, but knowing he needs to get the bleeding under control. His kid hasn’t even noticed the blood, which shows just how effected Sammy is by this nightmare. So when his baby boy tries burying himself in Dean’s arms, Dean has to still him, bringing his own hand up to pinch Sam’s nose.

Sam tries to pull away again even as his fingers are opening and closing on Dean’s t-shirt, wanting closer, his upset mind still not understanding that he’s bleeding. Dean knows he needs to be firm with his baby boy despite not wanting to right now.

“Sammy, _stop_.” Sam blinks at him through wet eyelashes, his breath hitching against another sob and the fear and hurt in those haunted yet still young eyes stabs Dean straight in the chest. “You’re having a nosebleed, baby. That’s why I’m pinching your nose.”

Sam’s eyes drop down passed Dean’s fingers on his nose to the blood-coated towel Cas is still holding at his chin. “‘M blee’in’,” he says surprised, words not coming out correctly with his blocked nose.

“Yeah, bud, you’re bleeding. We’re gonna get you fixed up, okay, but try and keep from talking for a minute until it stops. Just concentrate on breathing through your mouth,” Dean instructs gently, easing Sammy’s head a little more forward.

“Here, little one,” Cas says, grasping Sam’s hand and sets the now splotchy red and white towel upon it. “Will you hold this under your nose for me?” Cas curls Sam’s fingers around the towel to grasp it when Sammy doesn’t do it himself, the kid not quite with it. “I need to get a fresh one quickly.” Cas moves back into the bathroom, returning with two more off-white motel hand towels.

Dean hopes to hell they won’t be needing even just one of those, at least more than a few drops on it, because they’ll be finding a hospital first. Sammy’s already lost enough in the past… Dean glances at his watch again… surprised to find it’s only been five and a half minutes; seems like it’s been an hour. But then Dean would have already been in the car forty minutes ago if that were the case. He watches Cas retrieve the used towel from Sam’s hold and replace it with a fresh one, but keeps it within his own hand.

Two minutes later the blood flow has slowed to barely a trickle and Sammy’s wriggling on Dean’s lap as if he needs …

“Nee’ a wee, De.”

… That. Crap.

“Think you can hold it a few more minutes, baby?” Dean would rather not move Sammy until the bleeding is fully stopped to prevent a reoccurrence. But when Sammy’s wriggling becomes more pronounced a moment later, one of the kid’s hands now pressing against Sammy’s crotch, he knows he doesn’t have a choice. So he rises to his feet with Sammy still in his arms, Cas situating the fresh towel on Sam’s chest.

Sam gasps at the jostling, his hand now gripping himself tighter. “Potty, De,” the kid blurts out in a rush.

 _I know, kid, I’m getting you to the potty_ , Dean thinks, wondering how long it’s been since Sammy referred to the toilet as a ‘potty’.

It takes only three strides of Dean’s long legs to reach the toilet in their miniscule motel room. Setting Sammy down on his feet and steadying the kid when he wobbles, Dean swiftly strips both sweatpants and boxer-briefs down to Sammy’s knees before situating Sammy on the toilet, tucking the kid in just in time before he sprays all over Dean’s feet instead of in the bowl.  

Dean takes a step to the right, placing himself in front of the bathroom basin. Turning the hot faucet, he uses the motel supplied soap to wash his hands, keeping an eye on his brother as he does. “Okay, Sammy?”

Sammy nods sleepily, still holding the towel lightly in his fingers, but mostly against his chest. “Mm-hmm. You nee’ potty, too, De?”

Dean smiles lightly, snatching up the one bath-towel from the rack on the wall behind him and dries his hands. “Nah, buddy, I’m good.” Taking hold of Sam’s chin, he tips the kid’s head back slightly to get a good look at his nose. There’s crusting of dried blood but thankfully no fresh blood.

Releasing his hold, Dean turns the hot faucet back on, along with the cold. Wetting his thumbs beneath each so neither is too hot or too cold, he gently swipes them beneath and around Sammy’s nose, repeating the process until the blood is wiped away and then quickly washes his hands again. Picking up the kid’s washcloth out of the washbag, he wets it under the flow of water until it’s fully wet and then rings out as much of the moisture as possible.

“Eyes closed, Sammy,” Dean instructs.

His baby brother’s eyes flutter closed and Dean brushes back Sammy’s damp hair from his face, holding it out of the way while he swipes the wet cloth carefully over the kid’s face. Pulling away a minute later, Sammy’s face is clear of the blood that had smeared across his skin from his thrashing. Rinsing, wetting and ringing out the cloth again, Dean uses it to clean up a few stray spots of blood on Sammy’s neck before dumping it in the basin.

Dean quickly grabs Sammy’s shoulders, stopping his kid from nosediving off the toilet onto the floor. Sammy’s eyes snap open, blinking rapidly up at Dean, before looking at his surroundings. He reaches up and scrubs at an eye, and Dean’s prepared to stop him the second that hand gets too close to the kid’s nose. Fortunately, it doesn’t.

“Why…” the kid yawns and Dean’s gifted with a clear view of his tonsils, “… why am I on the potty?” Sammy questions. “Is it mornin’?”

“No, buddy, it’s still night. You had to pee.”

“Oh.”

“You all finished peeing, Sammy?” he questions, even though he knows the kid finished a good minute and a half ago.  

“Uh-huh,” Sammy responds, pushing upwards with his feet.

“Whoa, okay, we’re moving.” Dean grabs the kid around the waist with one arm as Sammy again tries to become closely acquainted with the floor. “Let’s just take it easy shall we?” he says, tugging the kid’s boxer-briefs back up his legs and into place. Sammy shakes his head, trying to push them back down his hips. “What’s the matter?” Dean questions confused.

“They’re wet, De,” Sammy complains.

 _Well shit_ , Dean thinks with an inward sigh, _of course they are_. He should have expected there to have been leakage with the way Sammy was gripping himself, not to mention the kid is a sweaty mess from his nightmare. “Alright, bud.” Dean lifts his kid off his feet so he can strip both the sweatpants and boxer-briefs all the way off. “Hey, Cas?” He calls out, seeing his partner stripping down Sammy’s bed out the half-open bathroom door.

Cas stops pulling the cover from the pillow and turns to him, unfazed by the view he’s being greeted with of Sammy’s bare bottom. Something Sam would be pissed about, but Dean really can’t do much about that at the moment though, he just needs to get Sammy sorted and settled back down. It does, however, equally show just how distant Sammy currently is to what’s happening around him because he doesn’t move to cover his bottom like he had earlier.

“Sam okay?” Cas questions, concerned.

“Yeah. Grab some clean boxer’s from his bag will ya? Sweats and t-shirt too.”

“Of course. Does he want a drink?”

“Some water’ll be good.”

Turning back to what he intended to do a moment ago, Dean knocks the toilet lid down. He regrets the abrupt action a second later as the bang it creates from hitting the seat makes Sammy jump and let out a startled cry of “potty monster”, and startling Dean in turn. The kid’s grip on the front of Dean’s shirt tightens, his bottom lip wobbles and he stares between Dean and the toilet with wide, frightened eyes as if expecting something to come flying up out of the bowl any second.

Like the deformed potty monster of a vivid imagination.

Fuck. Dean hasn’t seen Sammy this freaked out in years; the kid certainly hasn’t been afraid of the ‘potty monster’ since he was around four or five. Whatever the hell kind of nightmare or night terror Sammy just experienced had to have been something beyond horrifying. And it fucking kills Dean to know he won’t be able to stop Sammy from experiencing it again. He can only be there in the aftermath, which if it comes with nosebleeds each time he’ll be too fucking late to prevent.

And that protectiveness he’s always had inside of him for this kid is soaring to such new heights it’s almost crushing Dean with the force. He wants to destroy everything and anything intending to hurt his kid; aiming to get their hands on _his_ baby. Dean’s grip on Sammy tightens, pulling him close, uncaring of Sammy’s current state of undress. Hell, in the past this kid has bled on him, puked on him, pissed on him and shat on him. Sammy being half-naked or fully naked isn’t something that fazes Dean.

“I gotcha, baby.” Dean is surprised his voice remains steady as he whispers against Sammy’s ear, rubbing one hand up and down his kid’s back, and feeling even worse when the big fat tears roll down Sammy’s cheeks. “You’re safe with me, baby. I gotcha.” Dean shoots a glare at the toilet, blaming it for Sam’s fright despite his own part in it. “Mean old potty making big loud noises like that and scaring my baby.”

Dean hears the sniffle and feels Sammy nod fractionally, before the kid whispers, “bad potty,” and two fingers find their way into his mouth. Dean winces at how many germs the kid just stuck in there and gently eases the fingers out; cursing his own stupidity in not turning back around at the store yesterday and buying that damn pacifier. Of course Dean’s retracting of the fingers from Sammy’s mouth only upsets his kid further. And Dean has a forehead smacking him in the collarbone a second later as Sammy drops his head against Dean’s shoulder with a tired and distressed sob.    

As Cas appears in the doorway with Sammy’s fresh nightclothes and a glass of water, Dean makes the decision to forgo trying to sit Sammy on the closed toilet seat to wipe his sweat-soaked skin down. The purpose of shutting the toilet lid to begin with. It’s only going to cause even more distress at this point and that’s the last thing Dean wants to do.

“Set that stuff down and grab the washcloth, Cas,” Dean instructs, his left hand running continuously up and down Sammy’s back.

Cas nods and takes a step backwards out the bathroom door and reaches off to the side with the glass of water. Dean hears the soft thud of glass hitting wood a second later and figures Cas set the water down on the bureau. Cas steps back into the bathroom, quickly dropping Sam’s nightclothes on the closed toilet lid before grabbing up the washcloth and rinsing it once again under both the hot and cold faucets before ringing it out.

While Cas is busy doing that, Dean tugs on Sammy’s night tee. He pulls the sleeves free from his kid’s arms, then manages to get it over Sammy’s head with very little in the way of help from his little boy, who would rather keep his head buried in Dean’s shoulder. He drops the tee onto the sweats and boxer-briefs already on the floor.

Sammy shivers against the cold on his skin.

“We’ll be quick, baby, then we’ll have you tucked back into bed,” Dean soothes, nodding to Cas, who steps up behind Sammy.

The former angel runs the washcloth over the kid’s back gently but quickly, following up with the legs and arms, before quickly swiping it over Sammy’s bottom. Sammy shifts in Dean’s arms, shivers once again when Cas rubs the bath-towel over his skin to dry it of moisture. Dean has to set his kid back on his feet and turn him slightly while keeping a good grip on the kid so that Cas can wipe over Sammy’s front.

“Cold,” Sammy murmurs sleepily, eyes cracked open only a fraction.

Cas speeds up the process across Sam’s front, being mindful of the mild burns, and clearly wanting to get Sammy dressed and back to bed to warm up as much as Dean does. Once Cas has Sam dried off, between them they manage to get Sammy dressed in the fresh nightclothes and back into Dean’s arms.

Walking back into the main room, Dean settles Sammy in the middle of the queen and lies down beside him, draping the covers over them both. He pulls Sammy in close, his kid curling into him and Dean makes a mental note to cut Sammy’s fingernails as he feels them dig into his side as Sammy gets a tight grip on Dean’s tee with his right hand. The left blindly reaches out behind Sammy, searching. When it doesn’t come in contact with what it’s seeking, a distressed mewl leaves Sammy’s throat, curled legs hitting Dean in the thighs as Sammy kicks them.

“You’re okay, baby,” Dean soothes, rubbing his kid’s back and staring hard at his partner standing frozen at the side of the bed, the former-angel watching with a furrowed brow.

“What is Sam looking for, Dean?” Cas questions with clear confusion, reaching out to grasp that seeking hand, before pulling back.

“ _You_ , you moron,” Dean snaps, unable to keep his temper in check with his partner in the face of Sammy’s distress.

Cas’ mouth drops open into the shape of an ‘o’. Dean watches him blink in realisation and then his partner slips beneath the blankets behind Sammy, who’s fingers curl into the first piece of fabric upon Cas that they come across; the short-sleeve of Cas’ blue tee. A sigh of relief leaves Sammy’s mouth, his tense body relaxing against Dean.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Cas apologises quietly, rising up to drop a kiss to Sam’s temple. Lying back down, Cas tentatively reaches out to rest an arm over Sammy’s side, hand coming in contact with Dean’s.

After a moment, Dean entwines his fingers with Cas’ and closes his eyes. Now that Sammy’s taken care of and safe in his arms, both Dean’s mind and body are screaming at him to fucking sleep. They’ll deal with whatever fallout crops up from this nightmare in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t like the last, like, sixteen or so paragraphs at the end, feels way too rushed, so sorry if it sucks guys :( I might actually post a chapter I’m entirely happy with at some point, lol. Anyway, see you lovely’s in the comments :)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry for the lateness in posting. Life decided to be a bitch and interfere and not allow me the opportunities I needed to write. But here it is. And I hope you enjoy :) And to all who celebrate I wish you a Merry Christmas!
> 
>  
> 
> Once again a resounding thank you to all who have left comments, kudos and bookmarked this story. I'm truly amazed by the response this story has received. You guys are awesome!! You feed me fuel and inspire me to continue to write this. Keep it up, please.

Sam shifts, mind stirring into wakefulness even though his body doesn’t yet want to awaken. He wants to remain within the warmth surrounding him; and rising from that would mean stepping out into the cold. But his brain has other ideas and is insistent on his waking. He wriggles with unhappiness, knee hitting something solid. He stills, momentarily thinking it’s the wall he remembers going to sleep beside last night. But unless he fidgeted enough to turn himself upside down on the twin then Dean must have fallen asleep beside him while reading.

A smile flitters across Sam’s lips and around the thumb still lodged between them. He allows himself to burrow deeper against his big brother’s side; memories washing over him of the days he would awaken to the same arms around him, smaller, but still as strong and safe to his little mind. And maybe the comfort, steadiness and knowledge of having those sturdy arms surrounding him again will allow him to go back to sleep like they had done so many times before.

And miraculously – however long later - he can just feel himself slipping into the languorous world halfway between awake and asleep when a slight movement from behind his back disturbs him. He scrunches his forehead into a frown and cracks an eye open, slipping his thumb from his mouth as he tilts his head backwards a little and views Dean’s sleeping face. So, if his brother is before him as expected, who… Sam quickly and carefully runs a fingertip over the hands he can feel resting over his side; one, two… three…

_Oh god._ _Why is Cas in my bed? How are we even all fitting?_

It’s only as Sam fully opens his eyes that the light from the bathroom illuminates the room just enough for him to realise the kitchenette and table had both stood further away when he went to sleep last night. Which can only mean he no longer resides in the twin. _He’s_ in Dean and Cas’ bed and not the other way around. _And_ in the freaking middle of the two men; their arms around and over him.

_Shit, did I sleepwalk into their bed? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ended up in someone else’s bed from sleepwalking._ _But that hasn’t happened since I was a little kid._

… _Little… kid_ …

The words flutter through his sleepy mind again and something awakens. Sam’s pulse quickens, his eyes widen and nostrils flare as one by one the events of last night slam into him like a ton of bricks, snatching his breath away and flaming his face into a furnace. _Fuck_ , he curses silently, biting at his bottom lip as the tears well in his eyes.

The two men lying either side of him are now becoming a stifling cocoon, a constant reminder to his idiotic behaviour, and he needs to get away. Away from their arms offering him the comfort he neither deserves, nor has the right to accept after last night’s display.

He grimaces and starts slowly shimmying his way down the mattress; currently thankful he has a wealth of experience in stealthily removing himself from a sleeping Dean’s arms without waking the man. Cas isn’t a problem either; the man only has one arm lying loosely over Sam and he bypasses that effortlessly enough, along with Dean’s. Shifting onto his stomach, he continues his path down the bed until his knees hit the carpet and quickly checks he hasn’t awoken either man.

Both thankfully sleep on.

Rising to his feet, Sam quietly pads to the bathroom, snagging his duffle resting on the armchair at the foot of the twin on his way. Opening the bathroom door just enough for him to slide through, he closes it again, but makes sure not to close it fully so the click doesn’t echo throughout the silent room.

Taking a seat on the closed potty, Sam rests his duffle on the floor and swipes the backs of his hands over his eyes. Quickly unzipping his duffle, he digs around until he pulls out his sneakers, yesterday’s discarded pair of socks and an old faded black hoodie. He first pulls that over his head and down his body, sliding his arms into the sleeves, before pulling on his socks and then his sneakers. Once he has the laces tied, he stands, slipping back out the bathroom and crosses over to the motel door.

Setting his hand around the doorknob, Sam glimpses the blooded sheets from the twin bundled into a pile in the corner between kitchenette and door. He swallows heavily against the rising bile as flashes of his nightmare cascade through his mind. He slams his eyes closed, turning away from the mess – _his mess_ \- and quickly turns the doorknob to get him out of the room.

He takes a gulp of fresh air; the chill almost snatching it away from him, and quickly remembers himself. Turning back to the door, he pulls it closed before the cold can reach his brother and Cas and awaken them. His eyes catch the sky in the distance as he turns back around and starts stretching out his joints and limbs. The cloud cover from last night has all but dispersed; the half-moon and a swath of stars now visible in a sky blanched the purplish red of oncoming dawn. Normally, Sam could spend hours watching those shifting colours, but this morning it makes Sam want to throw up. He swiftly ducks his head back down, determined to keep his eyes away as he sets off on his run.

The repetitive motion of placing one foot in front of the other at a smooth pace has more often than not aided him in sorting through his troubled mind. And he’s hoping the exercise will do the same today, despite the fatigue still coursing through his system, along with the new accompaniment of embarrassment.

Because despite both his mind and body remembering the warmth of love and care his brother and Cas lavished upon him by not ridiculing him and simply doing what was necessary in helping him, it doesn’t mean Sam isn’t mortified by his own behaviour. By how childish – no, _babyish_ – he had behaved in front of Dean and Cas. And his nakedness in front of the latter… _God_.

But even ahead of that shame lies the overpowering fear and horror of his nightmare. He would rather take the embarrassment of his behaviour last night for eternity, then _ever_ remember the events that had unfolded in his sleep. However, Sam is a Winchester and he should know better by now that he will never be that lucky; the universe hell bent on him remembering both his behaviour _and_ his nightmare.

But he doesn’t _want_ to remember the latter! He doesn't want to touch it! Doesn't want to think about it!

And fuck; he’s experienced his fair share of nightmares. He should be used to the variety involved in them ever since he was a little boy given the knowledge and reality that monsters no longer reside in existence only under his bed, or the closest, or the potty, but truly exist in the outside world. He is in no way alien to the experience of nightmares. But this one - though feeling as real as the one he’s been having of yellow-eyes re-feeding him demon blood – is cutting so much harder into his mind, body and soul.

He unconsciously rubs at his forearms as he remembers the feeling of the deep cuts carved into his skin. The blade causing them wielded by familiar hands. Before those hands are withdrawn and the man stands back and watches as Sam’s life blood flows steadily from the wounds he created. The gut wrenching and heart shattering ten ton weight of seeing the familiar face of the man just looking down at him with cold, emotionless eyes, as Sam slowly bleeds out.

Sam stumbles; raises his knuckles to his mouth to stifle the sob shoving its way out of his control.

No. No. It wasn’t _real_. It wasn’t _him_.

It was just a nightmare; his subconscious mind trying to wake him to the reality of his bleeding nose in the waking world; trying to work him through the motions and emotions of no longer having demon blood poisoning his body. Because as freeing as it is to know he is no longer tainted, that substance has played a huge role in his life; unknowingly or knowingly been the catalyst of such havoc. And to brush it under the carpet and behave as if it never happened – as much as he might like to do so – does both himself and his brother, and Cas, and anyone else involved in those times, a huge disservice. 

But it was _nothing_ more than a nightmare.

Sam forces his legs to quicken the pace; feet pounding against the ground as he loses count of the amount of times he laps the motel’s parking lot. He comes close to slowing several times as his body wavers, only for the nightmare to begin to intrude again and his sneakers hit harder as his pace picks up once more.

It is only when he passes his starting point for the umpteenth time that Sam is forced to deviate from the course he’s set out lest he crash into the person stepping directly in his original path. However, as Sam swerves around the man, his arms are caught within the grasp of the man’s strong hands. He tries to jerk out of the hold, but …

“ _Stop_ ,” he’s told softly, but forcefully. Sam shakes his head in response to the direction, and then his face is being cradled between large hands that still him in place. “ _Yes_ ,” is gruffly accentuated but Sam shakes his head again, or tries to; the hands are pretty strong in holding his head still so he has no choice but to look into blue eyes. “It’s time to _stop_ , my little one.”

Sam’s chest heaves with rapid breathing out of his control. His legs are burning against the pace he put them through. His vision is once again blurred by tears. His bottom lip trembles. And yet, even as Sam is swiftly drawn into Cas’ arms, the former-angel almost crushing him against his chest, Sam wants to shove Cas away. To tell the man he isn’t worth the offering of comfort; he isn’t Cas’ little one and will never be. Just as he’ll never again be Dean’s kid; too much water has passed under the bridge between them for Sam to still hold that position in his brother’s heart.

But the words are stuck somewhere in his throat. And instead, he finds himself fiercely returning the embrace; his fingers catching the folds at the back of Cas’ shirt and gripping tightly. While the sob he’s been so desperately holding back is unleased from his mouth in a strangled cry and he buries his face into the crook of Cas’ neck. So different from his brother, yet just as strong and unyielding, and allows his tears to flow; barely registering the arm sliding under his bottom and boosting him off the ground.

 

**#SPN#**

 

_Dean sits at the table beneath the only window in their latest motel room with his dad seated opposite. Both are poring through lore books in researching for the latest hunt. He looks up at the sound of the small cough coming from his baby brother curled up under a blanket on the ratty couch, the kid’s concentration focused on the book in his hand._

_Watching as Sammy reaches up and scrubs at an eye with his knuckles, Dean glances over his shoulder at the clock screwed into the wall above the kitchenette. He’s surprised to find they’ve been working away for close to two hours since they’d sat down to an all but silent family dinner._

_“Sammy,” Dean calls, waiting until Sam raises his eyes from his book to look at Dean before continuing, “go make a start on getting washed up for bed,” he instructs. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He hears his little brother groan lightly, but lets it go as Sammy sets his book down on the cock-eyed coffee table in front of the couch, then pushes himself up from the couch to do as Dean asked. “PJ’s,” Dean reminds and Sam blinks before jogging back to grab the forgotten sleep clothes off their shared bed._

_Sam gives him a small smile which falters as his eyes flicker to the side of Dean, who can feel the hard brown eyes of their father on him rather than on Sammy. Dean shoots his kid a quick reassuring smile and a half-nod towards the bathroom and Sam scurries inside, closing the door behind him._

_Dean returns to the lore, only to raise an eyebrow at his dad a moment later when he still feels those eyes on him. “What?” he questions trying to keep the irritation out of his tone._

_“Sam’s still in bed by eight?” John queries, incredulousness prominent in his tone._

_Dean’s mood darkens instantly. Because it’s just fucking typical of his dad to drop on by for one measly fucking day after a three months absence; to remember he actually has two sons because he needs the help of his oldest. And then decide he suddenly wants to start paying attention to those two sons by questioning Dean’s methods of raising his baby brother. And just like every time before, Dean has to stifle the majority of his anger so it doesn’t blow up into a full-on argument – especially with Sammy in the motel room._

_“It’s a little late for you to be questioning Sam’s bedtime now, isn’t it, Dad?” Dean uses every ounce of control he has to keep his tone casual, setting the rim of his beer bottle to his lips and taking a swig._

_John’s face twists in anger the way it always does when being spoken to like that, but Dean really doesn’t give a fuck; it’s just too little, too late, as far as he’s concerned. “The boy is fifteen, Dean. His lazy ass should be helping you with research, not sleeping the fucking night away,” the older man hisses._

_“He usually does help me, Dad,” Dean snaps back, slamming his beer bottle back down on the table, “but you’re here tonight, so he’s allowed to have this one fucking night off! And yeah, he gets put to bed a damn sight earlier than other kids his age, but I don’t give a flying fuck about them or what their parents let them do! My responsibility, as always, is my baby brother. And how I raise that boy is no longer any of your concern, remember, if it ever fucking was ...”_

_“Don’t you dare take that fucking tone with me, boy,” John snarls, pounding a fist down on the table, knocking both their beer bottles over and rattling the dishes from their earlier dinner._

_“I’ll take whatever fucking tone I want with you when you open your mouth and start questioning my parenting methods!” Dean shoots back. “A privilege you damn well lost after what you did to him three years ago.”_

_“I did nothing to that boy that he didn’t rightfully deserve to get! The discipline you’ve clearly failed to instill in him!”_

_Dean’s anger explodes as he stands abruptly, chair skidding away from him as he slams both his palms on the table. He takes little satisfaction in the small twitch in John’s jaw, the only indication that the man was startled from the action. “Don’t you dare sit there and tell me what you did to him was discipline! Don’t you fucking DARE!! You tore into him until he bled! You left scars on him that aren’t just physical! You lost your fucking MIND and BEAT him, Dad! Your fucking lucky I ever let you near him again …!”_

_“He’s MY son! You don’t get a say in whether I see him or not, Dean!”_

_“That’s where your wrong, Dad,” Dean responds, barely holding back a snarl from his words. “You lost your right to Sam the day you never took him back from ME. You haven’t been Sammy’s father since he was six months old and you stand there now proclaiming he’s your son? Don’t make me fucking laugh. You don’t give a shit about him except as another homegrown soldier in your personal war of a vendetta!” _

_Dean abruptly straightens, squaring his shoulders as he does his best to rope in his anger at the man before him. He knows he needs to bring this situation back under some semblance of control because Sammy is probably listening to every damn word being said. And for that reason alone, Dean quickly snatches up their pile of dirty dishes and crosses to the small kitchenette to get away from his dad for two fucking seconds, depositing the dishes in the sink a little more forcefully than necessary. He leans his hands on the edge of the work surface; just trying to quell his anger, only to hear John kick back his chair, the heavy boots crossing the floor towards him in angry strides, the man never one to back down when spoken to the way Dean had just done so. Well that’s just too fucking bad because Dean isn’t done either, and he spins back on his heel to face the older man._

_“You really wanna know why I put Sam to bed at eight, Dad?” Dean could care less whether the furious man does or doesn’t want to hear it, because Dean’s about to tell him anyway, the words angrily bubbling to the surface. “It frees me up for a fucking hour to do whatever I need to do here, before I have to leave Sam here – alone – to go out and hustle us some cash to keep us afloat. Because hell knows you haven’t given a fuck about our cash flow for the past five fucking years! You fucking happy now? Sam knows the score and he does as he’s told.”   _

_John snorts, never one to believe Sam capable of doing as told just because the old man in front of Dean can’t get Sammy to listen to him without an argument. It infuriates Dean, and he wants nothing more than to clock his Dad one, but he refrains, unwilling to allow his baby brother to become a witness to it._

_“Dean,” John’s voice is controlled rigidity, “the boy needs to learn to man up and take his share of the fucking weight. And you need to stop fucking babying him! Its past time he starts joining us on hunts …”_

_“NO!!” Dean explodes once again, anger searing through his veins now more than ever. “You never get it do you?! He’s only fifteen years old, Dad, he is just a baby! All you’ve ever fucking told me is ‘watch out for Sammy, Dean’, ‘keep your brother safe, boy’. Taking him out on hunts isn’t keeping him fucking safe! Sam does the research, WE do the hunts. My kid is never gonna be a hunter. He’s better than that! Better than _us _! And I’ll NEVER fucking allow it!” Dean promises, even if he has to take Sammy away from the man in front of him indefinitely as he’s been planning to do for over a year now. And he will do it._

_He really should have anticipated it, but he hadn’t. So when the powerful punch impacts the left side of his jaw, it knocks him backwards and half-spins him around, the right side of his body smashing straight into the kitchenette work surface. It elicits a groan from his mouth as pain shoots across his ribs. But unwilling to show any ounce of weakness in front of his father, he spits the welled blood from his mouth into the sink before straightening and turning back to face the man._

_“Yeah,” Dean laughs darkly, roughly swiping the back of his hand across his mouth with the blood smearing across his skin going unnoticed. “That’s just you to a T, isn’t it, Sir. Don’t like hearing it, so you lash out, beating ‘em down.” _

_John’s face contorts with fresh fury, clenched fist rising again and ready to lash out at Dean once more. Movement catches Dean’s eye and fear cascades through him as his half-naked baby brother streaks across the room to get between them._

_“YOU LEAVE MY DADDY ALONE, JOHN!!” Sammy screams up at the man. Dean can hear the waver in his kid’s voice, the not yet three and a half foot little boy shoving at John’s thighs to push him away from Dean._

_John stops, hand frozen in midair as his gaze snaps down to Dean’s half-pint-sized little boy in surprise._

_Dean waste’s no more time and quickly hooks his hands under Sam’s armpits, lifting his much smaller baby brother’s shaking form up into his arms and shifting his kid around his body until Sammy’s wrapped around his back. And out of the way of harm._

_John blinks, all anger disappearing from him. Dean could swear he actually sees tears in the man’s eyes, a very rare occurrence that only happens on two specific days of the year when the man’s too drunk to realise any different. It deflates some of Dean’s anger. Some, but most definitely not all._

_“Sam …” John starts, voice hoarse._

_Sam responds by burying his face against the back of Dean’s neck; Dean feeling his kid’s button nose digging into his skin. And a complete dismissal towards their father for Sam’s part. Which is no real surprise. John is practically a stranger to the little boy, and Sammy is always shy around strangers. At least until he can warm up to them. And John hasn’t stuck around long enough the past fifteen years for that to happen between the pair. All Sammy knows from the man is barked orders he’s expected to obey without question._

_And it breaks Dean’s heart to know Sam doesn’t know the father Dean had once known; a very different father before the night that had torn their family apart. A father who had relished him and Sammy with hugs when he’d come home from work at the garage; wanting to do so the minute he got through the front or back door, and before he even washed up. Which would always earn the man a scolding from Mom along the lines of “You touch my children with those grease-monkey hands, John Eric Winchester, there’ll be hell to pay.” And watching his big, strong daddy getting scolded like Mom scolded Dean, always drew out amused amazement. His dad throwing him a wink before responding with a “Yes, dear,” then sneakily tickling Dean or Sammy’s stomach’s, and ending up being chased out of the room, leaving Dean laughing. A father who enthused so much excitement at being able to take them all to the park at weekends, playing ball with Dean whilst Mom and Sammy watched from the picnic blanket, or flying Sammy like an airplane that made the baby giggle crazily._

_Dean has always hoped somewhere deep down that man still exists, and Sam will one day get to meet him. But that hope dwindles a little more with each passing day._

_And though John looks hurt by Sam calling out the utter lack of relationship the pair share; that the kid sees Dean as his father, as well as Sam calling John by name to his face when it’s always been irrefutably Sir before, and by the youngest Winchester’s blatant dismissal, it won’t last. Because rather than trying to fix what’s downright broken, the man will shove it to the back of his mind. Like he has done everything else. He’ll go back to being what he has been since Mom died – a drill sergeant._

_Dean understands it. He does. He wants the thing that killed his mother too, but not at the expense of his brother, or his dad. Never at their expense. And while he knows he can no longer save his father from the path he’s walking, he’ll be damned if he has to watch his baby brother, his kid, go down that road too. _

_Meeting his Dad’s eyes, Dean watches the shutters slam closed. John steps away; marches to the motel door, snatching his brown leather jacket off the hook before yanking open the door. It slams closed behind him with an eerie finality …_

The creases at the corners of Dean’s eyes intensify as he scrunches his face into a frown at the weird dream that isn’t disappearing upon his waking. It’s one of those that just feels so real. Like the handful of other vivid dreams Dean’s been experiencing of late intermingled amongst his nightmares, and feel as if they should be memories.

But it was _nothing_ more than a dream.

Because Dean doesn’t remember Sammy having been so much of a shrimp at fifteen like the kid had been in the dream. Sure the kid hadn’t stood anywhere near the height he now stands, but the kid had been pushing five feet. Noticeably small for his age, but definitely not as tiny as in Dean’s bizarre dream. And ‘Daddy’ had stopped leaving Sammy’s mouth in regards to Dean when the kid was twelve, shortly after Dean’s return from Sonny’s. Nor does Dean remember getting into it like that with his Dad over Sammy on that day. And he _does_ recall the events of that day. Of John questioning the bedtime Dean had Sam on; of wanting Sam to join them on hunts. And while Dean had strongly disagreed on that day, it had been only another year and a half before Dean had little choice but to see Sam dragged into hunts when John required another teenage soldier.

Sighing bitterly at the reminder, Dean scrubs a hand across his face and a twinge of pained tightness flares across his cheek. As he shifts onto his side, an arm sliding across the mattress, he suspects he has a prominent bruise across his cheekbone where Sammy’s head collided with it. _Sammy_. Dean’s hand pats around empty space, his eyes snapping open a second later as he bolts upright. The memory of events that had played out in the early hours of the morning swiftly rush back in and knock the dream off its perch in the forefront of his mind.

Because not only is the space next to him free of sasquatch-sized baby brother, the far side of the bed is empty of Cas as well. And the motel room vacant of either one. So where the fuck is his kid and Cas?

Kicking himself for not having felt or sensed Sammy crawling out of his arms, Dean throws back the blankets and jumps out of bed. He grabs up his jeans and shoves his legs into them as he crosses to the motel door. Turning the doorknob and yanking open the unlocked door, he steps out into the frigid air only to stop dead in his tracks. Because not twenty feet in front of him and in the light of the rising sun, Dean silently watches as his baby brother crumbles into Cas’ arms like a cookie being crushed into crumbs within someone’s fist and scattered in the breeze.

Swallowing against the sharp lump growing rapidly in his throat, Dean has to fight against every instinct telling him to head over to the pair and take his crying kid into his own arms to give the comfort he knows Sammy needs. Because Dean knows he also needs to trust that Cas can adequately calm Sammy in his own way and without Dean’s interference. And in time, also be another source of strength and comfort for the kid.

Because Dean hasn’t been blind to Sam displaying younger characteristics lately. First with the thumb sucking, then the tantrums, and lastly earlier this morning. However, as much as Dean might still see Sam as a kid, that kid doesn't generally display these types of younger characteristics unless sick or injured to a bad enough degree that Sam's barriers drop. And he’ll seek comfort from Dean or sometimes just has to know Dean's presence is there before he can sleep.

And Dean is doing his best to go with the flow and react accordingly to the Sam he’s facing in any given moment; the kid’s erratic behaviour triggering the paternal side of Dean that he’s had locked down tight since Sam went off to Stanford. Just one of the reasons why Dean has considerably tightened the reins on his kid; and why he needs to know Cas can handle Sammy if these younger behaviours hang around much longer.

Especially if they can’t figure out what the fuck that spell did to cause it.

 

**#SPN#**

 

With his sobs eased off into sniffles, Sam slowly raises his face out of Cas’ neck. The familiar heat spreading across his cheeks as the realisation that he’s being held in Cas’ arms and in public to boot finally kicks in. He wriggles and the arms holding him shift, and then Sam finds his butt resting on something uncomfortable.

Blinking to clear his eyes of their blurriness, and feeling several stray tears drip down from his eyelashes onto his cheeks, Sam’s surprised to find himself partially staring at the grill of the Impala. And tilting his head downwards to find out what’s digging into his butt cheeks, he realises pretty quickly that it’s a low and wide black pole. One that stands as a barrier to prevent inept drivers from smacking into the low wall and fence that separates the land of the motel from the main road.

He can’t say he’s ever sat on one before and now he knows why. They are entirely uncomfortable and not well balanced for sitting on as Cas’ hands are the only things keeping Sam from toppling off either side. Getting his feet more firmly beneath him, Sam is able to steady himself and prevent the poles edges from digging into his butt so much, even if his knees are almost touching his chin.

He feels Cas’ hold retreat, before the pads of two thumbs are gently swiped across Sam’s cheeks to remove the residue of his salty tears. Sam drops his head further downwards, firmly staring at his lap rather than facing the man in front of him. He hears Cas release a soft sighing breath above him, before he feels rather than sees Cas squat down in front of him, the man’s hands coming to rest upon Sam’s knees.

“Sam, please look at me.” Sam keeps his gaze glued on his thighs. A moment later gentle fingers catch Sam’s chin, encouraging him to look back up at Cas. And as much as Sam doesn’t want to, he still does so anyway, raising his head just enough to look at Cas through his moistened eyelashes. “I am sure your mind has been telling you otherwise since the moment you awoke,” Cas says softly, or as softly as his gravel voice allows, “but _nothing_ you did last night was in anyway erroneous, Sam. Your mind, your body, only reacted in the way it knew how …”

“Sure. Yeah.” Sam can’t help snorting bitterly. “Because we all behave like frightened toddlers after waking from a nightmare.”

“I think you know better than anyone fear can take over, Sam,” Cas says, staring at him firmly through unblinking blue eyes. “It can present itself in all different manners. And just because a person is brave, doesn’t make one fearless. Do you think your brother’s never felt that all-encompassing and paralysing fear or disorientation upon waking from a nightmare, Sam?” Sam swallows against the memories of hearing Dean screaming in his sleep in the following days after his return from Hell; hearing the screams of Sam’s name coming from his brother’s mouth in the months after Dean killed Cain. “Do you think I haven’t?”

Sam’s eyebrows turn downwards even more than they already are. “You were an angel …”

“Exactly. I _was_ an angel. And I did many things wrong in this world, and in Heaven, _as_ an angel. And now that I am human, I experience nightmares just like you, just like Dean. Nightmares of my past; of my inability to save your brother, to save _you_. My greatest fears locked in my mind and brought forth by my subconscious in those hours of sleep …”

“I’m sorry you have to experience that, Cas,” Sam interjects softly, placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder – the one that isn’t still wet with Sam’s tears. He really doesn’t wish those kind of nightmares on anyone, especially a man who probably has yet to experience what a good dream can be like. Sam misses those.

He’s surprised to witness tears in the blue eyes before him as Cas huffs a halted laugh. “You never cease to amaze me, Sam.” Sam frowns. “You offer me comfort when I am supposed to be comforting and reassuring you.”

Enlightenment touches Sam and he shrugs lightly, a slight blush heating his cheeks again. He’s not sure exactly what he’s meant to say to that. Offering comfort and reassurance to others is just something he’s done since re-joining Dean in hunting. A means of paying back something Dean wouldn’t let Sam give him anymore like he had when they were kids. As a child Sam could sense when his brother was upset and the only thing he’d had to give was himself. He would snuggle up to his brother, wrapping arms around his brother’s neck or shoulders. Even when Dean would try and push him away, not wanting Sam to see the upset, Sam would just hold on tighter until his brother got the silent message Sam couldn’t then understand how to say out loud:

_You may be the big brother, you may be in charge, and it may seem like you’re all alone in this, but I’m here for you too._

It’s all he’s ever wanted. For Dean to know he isn’t alone. Tears sting his eyes again and begin to blur his vision, but he throws his all into holding them back. He shouldn’t be crying over every little thing; he doesn’t even remember doing that as a child, let alone as an adult.

A soft squeeze to his knees draws Sam’s attention back to Cas, who reaches up and brushes back a strand of Sam’s hair. “I am truly sorry we haven’t always had a great relationship, little one,” Cas says apologetically. “And that I’ve thrown you aside more than I’ve helped you up.”

Sam shakes his head, surprised by the turn in the conversation. “You don’t have to apologise for any of that, Cas,” he says adamantly. “There’s been fault on both sides. And I already forgave you your part.”

“You have,” Cas acknowledges with a soft smile, but it is quick to slide away. “And you have forgiven many a transgression against you, by not just myself, but countless others also. Yet… _you_ cannot forgive yourself for acting on instinct after a nightmare.”

Sam stares, then snorts humourlessly. “I walked right into that one, huh?” He shakes his sweaty head of hair. “I… I don’t think it’s just about forgiving myself, Cas, it’s… it shouldn’t have happened to start with. I get what you’re saying about fear being a great conductor in a person’s behaviour and responses. We _all_ know that. But I’ve dealt with nightmare’s my whole life, Cas, and I… I can’t remember behaving like that after one outside of when I was a child. But I’m _not_ a child, and last night I was… was like a little kid so dependent on my big brother and then just standing there while you …” Sam trails off, a blush once again coating his cheeks even as he sees the understanding seep into Cas’ eyes.

“Little one,” Cas gives his knees a gentle squeeze again, “I promise you, you have no need to be embarrassed over your nakedness in front of me,” Cas tells him softly. “I am a former angel. I was around when humans had little to nothing in the way of clothing. So nudity means very little to me.”

“I know,” Sam says softly, reaching up to scrub at an eye with a closed fist, “Dean’s told me. It’s just… I’ve never been like Dean, Cas. I’ve never been able to brush it off like he can, as if it’s nothing to be seen naked by anyone outside of my big brother.”

“Feeling that way is nothing to be ashamed of, Sam. I’m sure you’re not the only one in this world _to_ feel that way. And while you may not be a child, you are still only young, Sam.”

“Yeah, so you and Dean keep saying,” Sam huffs lightly. He feels his nose start to run and quickly swipes the back of his hand under it. Cas tuts, and Sam can’t help giving him a watery and sheepish flicker of a smile. “I didn’t exactly bring a tissue out here with me.”

Cas rolls his eyes and stands, grasping hold of the end of his tee and gently swipes it over Sam’s nose in lieu of the tissue neither one of them has. Thankfully Sam’s nose is too clogged to smell if the fabric stinks or not. Not that Sam really notices what with his staring up at Cas, and taking in how much of a Dean move that just was.

“It’s in need of a wash anyway,” Cas comments in response of Sam’s continuing look.

That flicker of a smile on Sam’s lips creases into a half-curve. “You shouldn’t pick up all of Dean’s bad habits you know, Cas,” Sam says with a touch of amusement. “It might not be too good for your continuing digestion.”

“Do not worry yourself, little one, I will be ensuring I always have tissue on my person from now on, so I believe my constitution will remain in working order.” Cas says and Sam snorts softly. “But speaking of your brother, do you feel ready to return to the room before he comes out here demanding it?”

“Yeah. We can do that.”

Sam allows Cas to pull him to his feet, the former-angel quickly planting an arm firmly around Sam’s waist as Sam wobbles. He’s stiff and weary and cold, and will no doubt be spending another day sleeping off and on within the car, but that’s okay by him. For right now he just needs to make sure his tired legs don’t start cramping. And oh yeah, face a no doubt worried big brother as Dean is bound to be awake by now.

And as they enter the motel room they’re greeted with Dean pacing the limited floor space in front of the bureau and looking like he’s going to burst with worry when he spins on his heels to face them. His eyes are assessing as they quickly rove over Sam, but Sam’s the one who freezes in concern at the bruise he sees crossing his brother’s left cheekbone. That bruise hadn't been there last night when he went to sleep the first time and Sam doesn't remember having hit his brother …

"You didn't," Dean cuts into Sam’s assessment, and Sam figures he must have said something out loud. "You were confused, tried to fight Cas holding your nose and the back of your head collided with my face." Dean holds up a hand as Sam opens his mouth, green eyes staring at him firmly but with no trace of anger. “You didn’t do anything wrong, kiddo, so you have nothing to apologise for, you get me?”

Sam swallows sharply at the unspoken message behind his brother’s words, and nods his understanding, some of the tightness in his chest loosening with the realisation Dean doesn’t hate him after last nights dsiplay. He can’t help looking imploringly at his brother and Dean rolls his eyes, waving his hands towards himself.

“Fine, yes, you can have a hug.”

Cas snorts beside Sam and quietly releases his hold as Dean steps in and draws Sam against him. One arm rests at the back of Sam’s neck, while Sam feels the other splay against his back, pressing him tighter against his brother as Sam returns the hug. He closes his eyes, and once again melts into the quiet affection and strength of his big brother.

“M’sorry,” Sam says quietly after a moment, despite directions not to.

Dean sighs against his ear, and the hand on Sam’s back moves, dropping lower and a second later a swat lands against Sam’s bottom as a reminder to what Dean had just told him rather than correction of misbehaviour. But still a small yelp releases from Sam’s mouth at the sting his brother’s strong hand draws out across his left butt cheek. Then Dean’s pulling back, holding him at arm’s length briefly before Sam lets out a startled squawk as he’s hauled up into Dean’s arms.  

“I can walk you know,” Sam grumbles as he’s carried into the bathroom and seated on the closed potty. _Whoa brain! This thing I’m sitting on is a toilet,_ he silently scolds his own mind, _not a frigging potty. A toi-let. Got it?_

“You need to go potty?”

_Oh for the love of …_ “No, Dean, I don’t ‘need to go potty’. This is a _toilet_. Did my head crack your skull?” Sam reaches up to check his brother’s face.

Dean snorts and smacks Sam’s hand away with a roll of his eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say, Sammy.”

“What's that for?” Sam questions, completely ignoring his brother’s sarcasm, as Cas carries one of the metal and plastic dining chairs into the bathroom.

“I thought it would be more beneficial for you to be seated in the shower with the way your legs are shaking,” Cas explains.

Sam has the grace to look sheepish. He had really overdone it in his run and is most definitely going to be paying the price, so he doesn't object to the offer of being able to sit for his shower.

“Stick it in the tub, Cas, and get the shower running,” Dean instructs in his usual gruff manner. His fingers grasp hold of the hem of Sam’s hoodie and pull it upwards while Sam’s protests become buried amongst a mass of fabric as it bunches around his head. “What’s that you’re saying, kiddo? Thanks so much for helping me, big brother?” Dean tugs the hoodie the final way off Sam’s head. “I know. I’m awesome,” Dean gives him a smirk.

Sam rolls his eyes, and can’t help laughing slightly as he brushes back his hair only to have it back in his face a second later when his t-shirt is tugged over his head. Then Dean’s eyes narrow as fingers prod just below Sam’s left shoulder. And Sam had completely forgotten about the mild burn, its soreness of yesterday having eased off, as has the pinkness.

“Looks better, kiddo, but I’ll put some more ointment on after your shower.”

Sam nods, having known that was coming. But before he can tell his brother he can put the ointment on himself, Cas’ voice interrupts.

“Is this the correct temperature, Dean?”

Dean steps over to Cas who is half holding the shower curtain across the tub so the water doesn’t spray all over them. Dean sticks his hand in, testing the temperature, and shakes his head as he pulls his hand back. “Slightly cooler.”

Cas nods, returning to the faucets. “This?”

Dean repeats the process from a moment ago and when he pulls back it’s clearly the correct temperature as he gives Cas a quick grin. Cas smiles, clearly happy to be able to help, even if it comes by way of getting the water temperature accurate. And it makes Sam wonder how left out Cas must sometimes feel being around Sam and Dean who share so much more history with one another. And against Dean’s experience of Sam-rearing in particular. Not that Dean and Cas are doing that for him again now. That would be stupid. Like he told Cas, he’s not a child. He doesn’t need rearing.

“… our things packed,” Cas is saying to Dean. “Assuming that you want to leave as soon as possible?”

“Yeah. Once we’ve all got our quick showers in we’ll hit the road. I want to be in Olympia today.”

“What about breakfast? Little one at least needs to eat.”

Sam opens his mouth to tell them both he can go without breakfast. Because the less stops they make in the journey, the quicker they’ll reach their destination. And the quicker they might get hold of Rowena. But Dean places a finger under Sam’s chin and coaxes his jaw shut. _Fine_ , Sam huffs silently, _I can take a hint._ But only because he knows _Dean_ wants to stop for breakfast to fill his never-ending pit of a stomach.

“We’ll get breakfast on the way, Cas,” Dean says with a quick grin at Sam. “Don’t worry, little man will get fed.”

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother’s words. He really needs to stop being seen as ‘little’ in these two men’s eyes. No matter how much the nicknames and endearments warm him inside.

He smiles lightly up at Cas when the former-angel runs a hand down Sam’s hair, before the man has to step over Sam’s feet on his way out the door. The latch on the door clicks into place as it’s pulled closed behind Cas.

“All right, Sammy, pants off.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam raises his eyes from the tablet resting on his knees as the engine shuts off, surprised to find the car shrouded in darkness. When did night fall? Has he honestly been so absorbed in his research that he hasn’t taken any notice of time ticking seamlessly on from chilly and cloudy blue sky into the darkness of evening? Flicking his gaze back down to his tablet, the time of 19:34 tells him that, yes, he has missed the outside world flying by beyond the Impala’s windows since he had been asked the question of what he wanted for their on-the-go lunch around two.

Actually, if he’s honest, Sam’s pretty sure he’s missed a whole bunch of stuff since leaving the motel in Wyoming a little after seven this morning after Dean had run across to the diner and grabbed them breakfast to eat in the car. Not surprisingly Sam ended up with the corner of a napkin once again shoved down the collar of his shirt before he started eating, and his lidded tumbler with straw handed to him filled with juice. And now here they are with a roughly eighteen hour drive cut down in true Dean fashion to twelve. And as he raises surprised eyes from his tablet, he spots Cas staring back at him from the front passenger seat, the man’s eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Sam, what is it?” Cas questions, immediately snapping Dean’s attention away from staring out the driver side window and around to Sam as well, his brother’s own forehead creasing into a frown.

“Sammy, something wrong?”

Sam parts his lips to answer, only to be startled when gibberish spills forth. It takes a mere fraction of a second for the realisation to click that his left thumb is wedged between his lips and he doesn’t remember when he put that there either. He pulls it out, absently swiping the spittle off on his jeans as he opens his mouth again to respond to their concerned questions, except Dean is already beating him to the punch.

“Yeah, kiddo, it’s evening,” Dean teases lightly, clearly having understood Sammy Winchester babbling. “It’s usually what follows afternoon.”

“Very funny,” Sam grumbles as his brother and Cas chuckle. “I just didn’t realise it was this late.” He frowns when both men in front shake their heads. “What?”

“Between napping and grabbing this thing again before you’ve barely even woken up -” Dean responds, his hand curling around the top of Sam’s tablet with four large fingers coming down directly onto the screen in a tight hold. Sam’s eyes widen fractionally; he doesn’t think his brother would have had the forethought to pack something like Sam’s screen cleaner. It’s not a necessity in Dean’s mind. “- Which, by the way, you’ve had enough of for today,” Dean adds, using his hold to quickly snatch the tablet away before Sam can get a tighter grasp upon it.

“Ah, Dean, c’mon,” Sam grumbles, feeling a little stupid for having been more focused on big brother’s fingerprints smearing over his screen than seeing that move coming.

“Nope. Because this thing -” Dean holds the tablet up, waving it in the air, “- has kept you from taking an ounce of notice to your surroundings for most of the day,” Dean continues, ignoring Sam’s protest as he folds the case around Sam’s tablet, the magnetic strap ominously clicking into place.

Sam can’t help but cringe lightly at his brother’s words as he watches Dean pass his tablet off to Cas, who opens the glove compartment and sets it inside before closing the box back up. He knows Dean would bust his butt more severely for lack of awareness to surroundings if they were anywhere else but the safety of the Impala. Because the only other space Sam can get away with that behaviour is in the bunker.

For within the walls of their heavily protected base, he and Dean are both free to loosen the reins on that long ingrained aspect of their lives. It allows them to wander free without constant need of weapons, or having to fully worry about if a demon or another supernatural critter is going to jump out at them any second. That is, Sam’s free to do so as long as the dungeon is empty of one of those entities. And only as far as the corridors and rooms they’ve already cleared and inspected. Because there are at least a dozen hallways, each with a handful of rooms of their own, that they have yet to check out. Despite their three year tenure in the place. Time has been a capricious thing for them lately - if not always - and after the fiasco with Dorothy and the Wicked Witch, rooms are not cleared alone.

And as he takes their green blanket Cas is passing back to him and sets it down on the free space of the bench seat, Sam really hopes Cas will eventually come to see the bunker as just as much of a home as Sam is learning it is to him. Dean pretty much accepted the place as a home straight away, but for Sam it is taking time because he’s never truly had a material home outside of the sturdy metal framework he’s currently sitting within. The bunker still only resembles a home to Sam rather than a workplace when Dean – and now Cas – are there sharing it with him.

“How’s that any different to when I’m usually researching?” Sam blurts without thinking, and hopes his brother or Cas don’t think to ask what exactly that research entails and simply think it’s a continuing study on the spell and its aftereffects.

Which, technically, it is. He hasn’t stopped researching the spell in its entirety. He’s just been concentrating more on the effect Sam thinks it’s having on his brother.

Because maybe the spell not only amplified the protectiveness in Dean but the innocence the man sees in Sam also. The reason Dean can no longer get behind the thought of Sam having sex; seeing only that someone would be hurting Sam. Because in Dean’s brain Sam’s too ‘young’ to be able to give the appropriate consent of an adult indulging in safe and consensual sex. And Sam doesn’t in the slightest way understand the relevance of the spell causing that kind of reaction. Though at least he can understand the protectiveness a little more; it having spiralled across the border into possessiveness even before Dean died and became a demon again. And clearly some aspect of that has remained within his brother and been translated into the extreme overprotectiveness Sam’s experiencing now.

It’s a theory. But it doesn’t explain Cas.

For while he and Cas had definitely grown closer during the business with the Mark of Cain, perhaps before that with the shit-storm wrought by Gadreel, Sam would not have considered Cas as protective of him. Friendship, yes, but protectiveness? Even those few times Cas stepped in front of him to prevent the Mark of Cain infused Dean hitting Sam – or killing him as Dean wanted to do – it was more out of preventing Dean from making that huge mistake than protecting Sam. So he’s not so sure that fully existed in Cas’ mind before he cast the spell.

“… usually pick your head up for air at least once or twice when you’re researching, kid,” Dean is saying, staring hard at Sam. “Whether your surrounded by the Impala or not.”

Sam sighs and has to give his brother that. The car that has given them so much protection in their lives only gives Sam so much leeway on watching his surroundings. He should have at least picked his head up from his tablet once or twice to take in his environs; maybe find out if his brother and Cas were having a pertinent conversation he should be listening to. But he hadn’t. He had instead allowed his mind to become lost in his research for hours.

“You could have pulled me out,” he accuses lightly.

“We both tried getting your attention, Sam,” Cas speaks up. “You’d mumble around your thumb but remain oblivious to what your brother or I were actually trying to say to you.”

“Oh,” Sam mumbles. He doesn’t remember either man trying to get his attention since lunch. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“Got lost. Yeah, we figured that. You get a free pass this time, Sammy.” Sam nods his understanding; it’s a clear warning to keep focused and not get lost in his head again. “All right then, let’s do this shall we?” Dean says before climbing from the car. Cas and Sam follow, Sam stretching out his legs and wincing as his muscles reproach him with twinges of pain at the movement. “You good for this, Sammy?”

Sam blinks at his brother, lowering his right leg back down to the ground. “Yeah, Dean. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Dean stares at him, eyes haunted. “I know you have.”  

Sam tears his eyes away and raises an eyebrow at the dilapidated building he can just make out at the end of the dirt path Dean’s parked the Impala. “This is it?” He questions, trying to draw Dean away from any bad memories of those times they’ve both had worse injuries and still done their jobs. “The place Cray told you about?”

“Yep.”

“Huh. Nice place,” Sam says, leaning back into the car to retrieve his gun from his laptop bag. Closing the door behind him, he turns back to his brother and a moment later is staring at Dean in confusion.

#

“Err… Dean?”

Dean stares down at the gun now in his grasp. _Sam’s_ gun. That he just snatched out of his brother’s hand. He clears his throat, quickly releasing the clip, looks at it, before shoving it back in place. “Just wanted to check what rounds you had in there, Sammy.”

Sam’s forehead creases with lines as his eyebrows arch into it at Dean’s slip up. “Uh-huh.”

Dean holds the gun out to his brother, his hand making a jerky movement because even as Sam takes it, Dean wants to rip it back out of his kid’s hold. But Dean is quick to school his countenance before his baby brother can read anything from him, gaze meeting Cas’ across the roof of the car. His partner’s expression is momentarily pained with understanding before it too is schooled behind a mask as Sam shifts his eyes to look at Cas.  

And as they walk the dirt path towards the farmhouse, Dean can sense Sam’s gaze boring into the back of his head and can practically feel his little brother’s cogs turning. That humongous brain trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Something Dean intends to completely ignore for as long as possible. Because what is he supposed to say, “Sorry, Sammy, I just can’t see you playing with guns any longer, or knives, any weapon, you know.”

No. Sammy _won’t_ know. He won’t understand. And why would he? When Dean doesn’t even understand it. When Cas doesn’t understand it. And that man was an angel for a fucking long time.

Dean does know he and Cas need to knuckle down into the research on this issue and the rest when Sammy’s in bed. Because maybe Dean missed something in the few hours he took to research last night; he was after all beyond fucking tired.

Though on top of that research he and Cas have been trying to ascertain what exactly a power burn means when the powers aren’t physically within the body of the one they’re burning out. That has been a huge part of their focus ever since Cas came up with what was then just a theory, but has unfortunately since been proven accurate. But they also need to try and get a handle on why he and Cas are so freaked out by the thought of Sammy playing… _handling_ … weapons. Why the protectiveness has kicked into overdrive, especially on Cas’ front. Because for Dean, protecting his baby brother has always been a part of him for as long as he can remember, but he’s learnt to control it. Until recently. Because whatever is happening is slowly taking that control from him; stripping him back layer by layer and Dean hates it, especially after the loss of control he experienced under the Mark of Cain’s power.

And what good is Dean in protecting his family when he doesn't even know what's going on in his own fucking brain?  

Dean angrily shakes those thoughts away and metaphorically straightens his shoulders. He can’t deal with this at the moment. Hell, he’s just given Sammy a warning about staying focused and out of his own head and not ten minutes later here’s Dean doing the same damn thing. He needs to focus on the here and now. Deal with the rest of this shit after they potentially have a run in with a witch in this farmhouse. Otherwise all of this… it’s going to drive him fucking nuts.

Reaching the farmhouse, it becomes clear the place is in even more of a ramshackle state then Dean had first thought. Practically every window at the front has a hole or two in it, or is missing entirely and bordered up by someone’s haphazard job. And from what he can see of it, the roof is in even worse shape with gaping holes where tile covering should be.

If Rowena had bunked here it wouldn’t have been too entirely pleasant. A thought that cheers Dean up considerably.

Despite big feet and the tough boots attached to those feet treading on the wooden floor of the veranda, the three enter silently through the farmhouse' front door into a hall with stairs situated directly before them. Their movements kick up dust from the floor, but they still remain silent, until the crunch of a leaf underfoot echoes loudly throughout the house. They still. Green and hazel eyes zero in on Cas, who apologetically lifts his foot from the offending piece of nature.

Dean shoots him a glare.

“He's not the only one gonna be treading on leaves,” Sam points out quietly, flashlight lit beside his gun as he flashes it across the floor. Hundreds of leaves are scattered across the wooden boards having no doubt blown in through the broken windows for too many years.

“No point worrying about that now,” Dean whispers back. “Just keep focused.”

“I am focused. What about you, Dean?”

Dean ignores the jibe from his perceptive little shit. Instead, he indicates for Cas to take the second floor, while he and Sam sweep the first. Cas nods, his movements silent as he starts up the stairs. Sam makes a move to go into the room on the left while at the same time Dean moves to go into the one on the right. He reaches out to grab his brother, intending to have the kid remain with him, only to stop himself just in time. His hand grasps air as Sammy disappears around the wall, the kid completely oblivious to the struggle his big brother is again inwardly facing.

_Winchester, get a fucking grip on yourself,_ he scolds himself harshly as he starts on his own sweep around to the right. _You got a job to do. So does Sam. The kid’s gonna be gone a minute at most._

He sweeps his flashlight and gun over what looks to be old and broken dining room furniture, clearing the room before crossing into the joining kitchen. He shoves down an irritating itch to go grab Sammy and place his kid beside him where he can be shielded, protected, at the drop of a hat.

Because as much as he knows Sammy’s more than capable of taking care of himself, a much larger part is telling him he shouldn’t let Sammy out of his sight. Shit. They’ve already touched base on Sammy not going off anywhere alone, but does this qualify? Sam isn’t technically _alone_. Dean’s just in the next room. And Cas is upstairs. Except, Dean’s been in the same room as the kid a million times over and the kid still gets hurt; still disappears from under his brother’s nose; still gets thrown into walls and bookshelves; still collapses …

“Sam?” Dean quietly calls. Big brother overtaking the hunter, even as he clears the second of two tall cupboards, an ideal hiding location.

“I’m here,” Sam responds just as quietly. And relief spreads through Dean’s body - without his body physically relaxing from the hard hunter stance he’s in full awareness that he adopts on the job - the second his baby brother steps into the kitchen from the left side. “Place is clear on this side.”

“Clear here too.” Dean silently gestures to a door sitting fractionally ajar and best guess, it leads to the basement.

Sam nods, raising both gun and flashlight to just below shoulder height; the stance Dean taught him and Sam has perfected to his own style in the past decade, and a note of pride swims through Dean at the sight. Placing a hand on the door, Dean gives it a slight shove and it swings all the way open. His assessment is correct as he lowers his flashlight beam slightly to reveal the stairs leading down. Nothing jumps out at them and Dean starts his descent, hearing Sam following behind him. They sweep the room; the basement empty with not even a piece of furniture or a box of old junk nobody wants.

“Dean,” Sam calls from a far corner.

“Find something?” Dean questions, joining his brother who is crouched down, his flashlight directed downwards at the floor. Three dark smears are visible within the light. “Blood?”

“Yeah.” Sam reaches out, dipping a finger into the blood before drawing back and rubbing his finger against his thumb. He looks up at Dean as he observes, “It’s still tacky.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at the news. Neither one of them need to say the words to know that if this is the witch’s blood, they’ve only missed her skipping out of dodge by an hour or so.

Mid-process of swiping his thumb and finger off on his pant leg, Sam quickly turns in his crouched position, gun raised. Dean instinctively clamps a hand down on his brother’s shoulder while directing his own gun towards the stairs at the sound of footsteps travelling across the floor above. Cas appears halfway down the stairs and in the beam of their flashlights a moment later. They lower their guns and Dean removes his grip on Sam, allowing his kid to stand.

“There's sulphur on an upstairs window and the floor beneath it,” Cas informs them, continuing down the stairs to join them. He holds up two fingers and illuminates the yellow powder on the tips by way of his flashlight.

“Most of the windows are busted,” Dean observes. “Nice open house shithole she opted to take shelter in. This is the only secure room. No windows. One door.” In the beam of his flashlight Dean catches sight of his baby brother’s furrowed brow and slightly narrowed eyes; a thoughtful expression which always signifies the ticking of the kid’s brain. “What’s flying through your noggin, kid?” Dean questions.

“Nothing good,” Sammy responds as he jogs across the floor and back up the stairs.

Dean and Cas follow, Dean planting a foot on the bottom step to ascend them after his kid and whatever Sam’s figured out, only to draw to a stop when Sam closes the basement door. He and Cas aim their flashlights up at the door along with Sam’s, and the three beams of light catch the blood sigils drawn on the back of the door.  

“I was hoping I was wrong,” Sam says as he crouches down to get a better look in the light of his flashlight.

“NO, SAM!” Cas abruptly roars, tearing up the stairs and grabbing a startled Sam up into his arms. He rushes back down with Dean’s little brother, while Dean can only blink at what’s riled Cas up, his gun aimed and ready to shoot whatever threat there is.

“Cas! Get off me!” Sam struggles, shifting himself away from Cas' arms and closer to Dean as he's set on his feet on the basement floor. He rounds on Cas, his face set and angry. “What the hell was that, Cas?”

“You were about to touch one of the sigils I didn't recognise,” Cas scolds.

“Sam, that true?” Dean demands, lowering his gun only slightly as understanding of Cas’ abrupt actions seep in. He can’t say whether or not his brother had done as Cas said because he hadn’t seen anything beyond Sam’s head and back, so he wants to hear it out of his kid’s mouth before he dishes out punishment for such a stupid mistake.  

“No. I wasn't gonna touch it,” Sam shoots back, but Dean can hear the defensive edge which always indicates the opposite in his little brother.

“Sam,” Dean drops his voice even lower than normal, his baby brother’s name spoken in a dangerous growl of displeasure. Sam looks at him, spooked and one hand readying to cover his backside, a pure sign of guilt, and Dean steadies his voice so it holds less bite. For now. “You know better than to touch an unfamiliar sigil. Especially a blood sigil.”

“I couldn't help it! I just felt like I needed to touch the damn thing!"

“And we generally call that a trap, Sam!” Dean gets a grip on his kid’s upper right arm, cursing the fucking witch as he does.

“A witch of Rowena’s calibre will know how to work her spell's into blood sigils,” Cas states, taking hold of Sam’s other arm, “or hide spells behind them.”

“I know that, Cas!” Sam snaps. “I’m not stupid.”

“Yet you were a fraction away from placing your fingers upon one unfamiliar to you. And you are trying to get back up the stairs as we speak.”

Dean watches his kid blink, glance down at the hold Dean and Cas both now have on his upper arms, one foot raised in the process of trying to place it back on the bottom step.

“Shit. I didn't… I can't…” Dean tightens his hold on his kid when he sees a flash of lime green in Sam’s eyes, a glare overtaking the confusion as Sam’s upper lip turns upwards. “Get off me!” Sam snarls and starts struggling fiercely, trying to shake off their holds and it is an effort even with Dean and Cas’ combined extra strength.

“We need to destroy, oomph,” Cas grunts as he receives an elbow straight in the mouth, “destroy that sigil, Dean!”

“We'll just get him outside!”

“That would be ineffective! Sam's going to continue wanting to set off whatever spell is fused into that sigil until it's destroyed… or Sam is!”

“Shit. Okay. You're gonna have to go do that while I restrain him, Cas!” And if Dean can’t physically restrain his baby brother by himself he’s going to have to knock him out; something Dean is far from wanting to do at this point, but will still do so if necessary. He quickly tilts his head backwards to avoid a flying fist. “Sammy. Shit. C'mon, kiddo. Stop fighting us!”

But it's like his baby brother doesn't even hear him anymore. Dean nods to Cas and between them they drag Sam to the furthest point from the basement door. Dean leans back against the wall, positioning Sam’s back flush to his chest and then quickly slides them down the wall, Sammy landing between his spread legs. He quickly hooks his ankles over Sammy's struggling legs, his arms over Sam's bucking torso, tightening his hold enough to lessen Sam's struggling but not to do harm.

Dean looks up at Cas, and slightly breathless says, “Go!”

Cas does so, charging back up the stairs. He carefully opens the door back up and steps into the kitchen before ripping the door off its hinges from that side as not to disturb the blood sigils on the basement side. Dean hears him rush across the floor upstairs, footsteps heading for the back door in the corner of the kitchen. Hears the back door kicked open. Then the only sounds he’s left with is the sound of Sammy’s heavy breathing as the boy continues to try and buck against Dean’s hold on him.

He is unaware how long it takes, whether it’s five minutes, half an hour or an hour, but Dean knows the second Cas manages to destroy the sigil because he’s startled by the unnatural screech that leaves Sammy’s mouth. The kid falls silent after only a few seconds; his struggles instantly ceasing and he slumps against Dean, eyes closed and his chest heaving as if he's just run a marathon. Dean slowly loosens his grip, gently tilting Sammy's face up, brushing back his hair as he calls his kid’s name over and over until Sammy starts to stir with a groan.

“D'n?” Sammy's voice is soft, young and scared.

Or maybe that's just Dean's brain telling him he's hearing that in the sound because the eyes peering up at him look young and scared. “Right here, buddy.”

“W'at hap'n?” Sammy questions groggily.

“Witch. Spell. Usual.” Dean replies succinctly, the adrenaline still racing through him.

“Oh,” Sam mumbles before the ever present thumb rises and slips into the kid’s mouth, the boy curling on his side and snuggling his face into Dean's chest. "Sleepy, De.”

“Sleep then,” Dean replies quietly, continuing to run his hand down Sam’s hair.

There is no point telling Sam to stay awake until they get their asses out of here. He knows when Sam’s not going to be able to keep his eyes open and this is one of those times. He hears Sam’s breathing even out into sleep not thirty seconds later and Dean rests his head back against the wall, just giving himself a moment to feel the relief. His kid’s okay. But that could have worked out a whole world of different. Fuck. Sammy hadn’t even touched the damn sigil and it still somehow controlled him; pulled him in to do its bidding to trap them or kill them all for that redheaded skank. If Cas hadn't been there to recognise that the sigil was one he didn't recognise...

“Dean?” Cas voice rings from above.

Dean sits straight again. He's back. No more wallowing in what could've happened. It’s done and they need to get out of here. They definitely need to get Sammy out of here.

“Did it work? Is Sam okay?” Cas questions, now descending the stairs.

“Yeah, Cas, he's good.” Dean responds, carefully manoeuvring himself and Sammy so he can pick his kid up.

Cas moves into help and they get Sammy standing between them. Dean then hooks his hands under Sammy's arms and lifts him onto his hip, his arm sliding beneath Sam's butt. Sam's legs instinctively rise up and settle around Dean's waist and his left hand comes up to grip at Dean's jacket even in his sleep. Sam's head flops against the curve of Dean's neck, soft puffs of air blowing against his skin from around the kid’s thumb.

Dean smiles lightly, holding the back of his kid’s head as he starts up the stairs, Cas bringing up the rear with Sam's dropped gun and flashlight. That feeling of his baby brother breathing against his neck had comforted Dean when they were younger just as much as Dean's arms being wrapped around Sammy comforted the kid. It’s knowing they’re both there, both together. Safe. And it still comforts Dean now. Not that Dean would ever voice that out loud.

Reaching the Impala, Dean carefully situates Sammy in the back seat and closes the door, just shy of slamming it, and rounds on Cas. “I want her dead,” he snarls. 

“We need her alive,” Cas speaks calmly in the face of Dean’s anger, but Dean can see the fury in the blue eyes. “At least until she’s expended her usefulness.”

“And when that time comes, I’m taking her fucking head.”

“Agreed.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Driving into the parking space in front of room one-twenty-seven that belongs to the Redfern Grove Motel, Dean climbs from the car and closes his door behind him. Opening the driver-side rear door, he is just about to get his hands on his still sleeping brother to lift the kid from the car when he senses eyes on him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Straightening to full height, Dean tracks his own eyes to the window of the room next to the one they’ve been given. He glares at the salt and peppered haired guy blatantly staring out at him. The guy hurriedly releases the curtain to fall back into place over the window.

Nosey fucking bastard.

But as Dean leans back into the car and lifts Sammy out into his arms, he makes a mental note to keep an eye and ear open to the snooping neighbour during their stay here. Or possibly find a way to test the bastard and ensure he isn’t a demon, or shapeshifter, or any other fucker wanting to get in their faces.

Dean frowns as his kid’s head rests against his neck once again. Shifting Sammy on his hip to free up one arm while keeping the other firmly beneath Sam’s butt, Dean places the back of his hand to Sammy’s visible cheek. He curses at the warmth he feels radiating from his kid.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls over the open trunk where Cas is grabbing their stuff, “grab the med kit out as well,” he instructs.

“Is Sam hurt?”

“No,” Dean says, clearing the door so he can get it closed and joins his partner. “At least no more than a few bruises. He feels like he’s developing a fever. Grab my car key outta my jean pocket and lock up Baby while I lay him down.”

Cas nods, hand slipping into Dean’s right jeans pocket to retrieve the key. Cas in turn places one of the two motel keys in Dean’s hand. Dean nods his thanks and turns on his heel and carries Sammy the short distance to their room door.

Dean slips the key into the keyhole and twists it before turning the doorknob, the door swinging wide as he gives it a slight shove. He takes little interest in the room’s layout aside for the location of the beds which are not directly in his visual path. But a quick look to his left produces a square opening into a separate area which holds the two required queen beds.

Laying Sammy down on the second bed, the one furthest from the main door, Dean sets about stripping his kid out of his jacket and boots. Completing the task, he exits the bedroom area and crosses over to an alcove holding the kitchenette almost directly in front of him.

Dean digs out a glass from the one storage cabinet and rinses it thoroughly under the faucet. Trekking into the bedroom and uncaring that the glass in his hand is dripping water every other step, Dean sets it down on the nightstand. He returns to the living portion of the room, and squats down just in front of the door where Cas has dumped one of the bags of supplies they’d picked up back at the store yesterday. Specifically the one holding several bottles of water. Grabbing one, Dean returns to his sleeping brother and with a twist of the cap, opens the bottle and fills the glass so it stands half full.

“I think I brought in everything we may need.”

Dean turns to look over his shoulder at Cas who is biting at the corner of his lip and staring down at the bags sitting on the floor. He holds in the snort that wants to break free of him, pretty sure Cas has divested the trunk of everything bar the bag holding Sam’s new toys, and the weapons and supplies within their hidden compartment. But Cas looks worried and Dean doesn’t think it the right time to tease his partner about it, so he lets it go.

“I’m sure you have.” Dean returns his attention to his sleeping brother. He brushes a sweaty lock of hair away from his kid’s face, heart aching at the innocence displayed there.

“How is he?”

Dean takes the med kit from Cas and sets it on the end of Sam’s bed. “It’s probably only a mild fever, but I need to make sure he’s not sitting on the cusp of it becoming a raging one.”

Pulling open the zipper of the larger duffle than his and Sam’s own duffles, he draws out the separate paper bag he set the new thermometers in when Sammy wasn’t looking. He also grabs up the canister of disinfectant probe wipes and the small tube of lube stored in the kit and dumps both on the bed. After transferring the med kit over to the other bed, Dean grasps hold of the end of the bag and tips it upwards, the assortment of thermometers tumbling out onto the blanket. 

Cas squeezes his arm lightly. “I’ll get his sippy cup ready for fresh use.”

Dean nods; Cas stepping back into the living portion while Dean parks his butt on the end of Sam’s bed. He divests one of the two blue and white digital thermometers made for the mouth and armpit of its packaging. Connecting the battery, it gives a long beep before shutting up and he checks the LCD screen has a readout before pressing the button to take it back to the two dashes that indicates it’s ready to start. He then switches it back off. Opening the canister of wipes, he withdraws one and uses it to wipe over the probe. Satisfied the thing is clean a good minute later, Dean dumps the wipe off to the side.  

Glancing at Sammy, he pats the kid’s leg. “You know… you didn’t need to go and get yourself sick to save yourself losing your allowance for a couple months, kiddo,” Dean tells his kid affectionately, even if his voice is gruff with the concern he’s feeling. He can’t always shield it from his voice, and right now, with Sammy sleeping, he doesn’t even need to try. “I would’ve waived that condition.”

Sighing softly and with another pat to Sammy’s lower leg, Dean stands and rounds the bed. Taking a seat on the edge at Sammy’s hip, Dean dips the thermometer probe into the glass of water, swishes it around for a moment, then draws it back out and gives it a shake to clear it of any excess water. Turning the small machine back on, Dean sets a finger on Sammy’s chin and presses downwards with gentle pressure. Sam’s lips part just enough for Dean to slip the thermometer inside and ease it carefully beneath Sammy’s tongue.

Dean holds it there, watching the readout, and knows instantly the thing is not working properly. The readout plummets to a number indicative of a dangerously low temperature and then shoots rapidly upwards, sailing past the one-oh-eight mark before it starts beeping erratically. Dean pulls it from his kid’s mouth a second before it craps out, the covering of the LCD screen cracking.

_Oh the joys of Sammy temperature taking_ , Dean sighs.

Ditching the piece of crap on top of its packaging, Dean grabs up the other one. He repeats the process of stripping it from its packaging and checking it already works properly, before switching it off again and cleaning the probe. He sets it upon the nightstand before his fingers work the button of Sam’s shirt sleeve open and pulls the kid’s arm out. He doesn’t remove the undershirt, only pushes it upwards enough on one side so he has access to his kid’s right armpit. Grabbing the thermometer, he places it where it needs to be; enclosed within the skin of Sammy’s armpit and his arm. Again he watches the readout. And when it instantly plummets Dean pulls it out. No sense losing this one too. He rights both of Sam’s shirts, apologising softly as his kid shivers.

“Cas, can you turn the heat up a fraction?”

“Of course,” Cas calls back and Dean hears his partner’s feet crossing the floor to the motel room’s heater.

_Well, Sammy, two down, one to go,_ Dean silently tells his brother. But Dean really isn’t holding out much hope of the ear thermometer working. Yet he still goes ahead and tries it once he pulls it from its box, cleans it and tests its working prowess. Seeing it's working fine, he slips the probe covered tip into Sam’s ear. Dean watches the readout produce the same result as the other two in dropping low and shooting high, except the speed at which the reading shoots upwards blows the battery with a pop.

“Dammit!”

“All of them?”

“Pretty much,” Dean sighs, glancing over his shoulder at Cas, who’s eyes drop down to the last of the packaged thermometers that clearly reads ‘Rectal Thermometer’ sitting almost innocently on the bed.

“That’s the only one remaining to try?”

“Yes. But there won’t be any _trying_ with it. It’ll work.” Dean snorts softly, setting the busted ear thermometer with the rest. “Sammy’s butt I can trust to give me an accurate reading.”

“Then why go through the whole process with the other ways, Dean?”

Dean stares at his confused partner. “Because I promised him we could try.” Understanding seeps into Cas’ eyes, and Dean feels the need to add, “And you are my witness, Cas. Along with the busted thermometers.” Because he knows his baby brother, and that’s the first thing Sam will accuse him of; not even trying all the other ways.

Picking up the rectal thermometer, Dean removes it from its packaging and goes through the process of ensuring its working properly with the test readout before he switches it off again and cleans it. Setting it aside, Dean unfastens Sam’s belt buckle, then his jeans. Lifting Sammy’s hips with one hand, Dean tugs the jeans down and lowers Sam’s butt back down onto the mattress before pulling the pants the rest of the way off. Carefully easing Sammy over onto his stomach, Dean tugs the boxer-briefs down to just below the kid’s butt.

Picking up the thermometer, Dean slips the probe cover over the pointed end and smears a small amount of lube over it. Using his thumb and forefinger to gently ease Sammy’s butt cheeks apart, Dean slides the probe into his kid’s anus, a soft whimper leaving Sammy as he wiggles his butt in his sleep against the intrusion, dislodging the probe, but doesn’t wake.

“I know, buddy,” Dean says softly, rubbing his kid’s back, and Sammy settles down. “But I gotta do this,” he adds as he returns to doing his job, once again spreading Sammy’s butt cheeks. He raises his eyes to Cas who seats himself on the bed beside Sam and opposite Dean. He nods at his partner in thanks as Cas starts rubbing gentle circles into Sam’s back.

This time Dean is quick, but still just as gentle in sliding the probe in, ensuring it goes in enough to cover a half inch before Sammy can start wriggling and dislodge it again. Cas’ back rubbing however seems to be keeping Sammy settled. Dean releases his hold on Sam’s butt cheeks so they trap the thermometer between them, while his fingers still remain attached to the instrument sticking out of his kid. He watches the small screens readout with a sense of relief as it does the job it was made for and works properly, giving him an accurate reading of his kid’s temperature when it beeps a minute later.  

“One hundred,” he states, removing the thermometer.

“What does that mean?” Cas questions worriedly, standing and joining Dean to look down at the readout.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean instructs as he returns the underwear to covering his kid’s butt, then pops the probe cover from the thermometer into the trashcan under the nightstand. “It’s a low-grade fever,” he says, using another wipe to clean the end of the thermometer again. “We’ll keep an eye on him, but that’s it for now unless it advances.”

“Which we don’t want, correct?”

“No. We definitely don’t want that,” Dean responds, brushing his hand down Sammy’s hair.

“Do we have the necessary medicine required for a fever?” Cas queries and practically buries his head in their med kit as he starts rummaging through it.

Dean smiles lightly, but doesn’t answer. He needs to wash his hands, but he realises he can utilise this moment as another lesson in human reality. People get sick. Sam’s gotten sick numerous times before, but really only around Cas during the trials to try and close up Hell. And, save for a few short times where his wings have been clipped or he’s been human briefly, Cas has relied heavily on his powers to assess and heal what’s required without the necessity of medicine or medical care coming into the picture.

So Dean waits and watches as he clears up the crap from the useless thermometers, dumping it all into the trashcan.

Cas eventually pulls out the two new bottles of Children’s Tylenol, his lips moving as he reads over the boxes housing them. “Ah, here, acetaminophen,” he says raising his eyes to Dean, who nods. “That’s what you used on baby Tanya when I was human the first time, yes? When Ephraim tried to kill me.”

Dean blinks, having to think back to who exactly baby Tanya and Ephraim are. It takes a moment, but he finally remembers Ephraim was the creepy ‘Hand of Mercy’ angel smiting ‘suffering’ humans over two years ago. And baby Tanya was the kid Cas was babysitting when he performed the task of putting Ephraim down. “That’s the stuff.”

“And this is suitable for reducing the fever in someone of Sam’s size also?”

Dean nods again and stands, grabbing the blanket up from his and Cas’ bed and draping it over his kid’s form. “Just have to up the dosage from three spoons to four roughly every five hours,” he replies before crossing into the bathroom to wash his hands.

“And we’re not giving Sam any yet, because?”

Dean’s mouth half curves again as he dries his hands off on a motel-supplied hand towel. “Because the fever’s a good thing at the moment.” He steps back into the bedroom and places a brief kiss to Cas’ lips. “It means Sammy’s immune system is doing its job in fighting against whatever foreign substance is invading the kid’s body.”

“And when it isn’t a good thing?”

“That’s where that stuff comes in,” Dean replies, jabbing a finger at the Tylenol in Cas’ hand. “Just like with baby Tanya. What?” He questions at Cas’ furrowed brow.

“Do you think this is an aftereffect from Rowena’s spell?”

“I don’t know, Cas.” Dean moves them into the living area. “But it’d be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t. I mean Sammy was fine when we went into that farmhouse and here he is with a fever barely half an hour after being hijacked. We’ve seen what Rowena’s magic can do …”

“Only in humans whose bodies cannot withstand magic,” Cas responds, crossing to the green cooler and opening the chest, drawing out two beers. Dean takes his, twisting off the cap. “We know Sam is stronger than that, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, leaning his butt against the edge of the kitchenette’s small work surface and sets his beer bottle to his lips, taking a deep swig of the liquid. He sighs as he lowers the bottle, his eyes resting on his baby brother’s sleeping form. “I just hate knowing that fucking bitch got to him without even being there, Cas.” he turns his gaze to his partner. “And how exactly _did_ she do that?”

“I have never seen or heard of a spell like that before. It could have been anything. Something she set off remotely. Something in the air …”

Dean shakes his head. “That would’ve seen all three of us affected.”

“Perhaps something he touched …”

“Touched,” Dean murmurs, his mind going back to what Sam had touched in that farmhouse that neither he nor Cas did.

_Sam reaches out, dipping a finger into the blood before drawing back and rubbing his finger against his thumb. He looks up at Dean as he observes, “It’s still tacky.”_

Dean closes his eyes. “Shit.” Setting his beer bottle down on the work surface behind him he crosses back into the bedroom, long strides eating up the distance.

“Dean, what is it?”

Dean ignores Cas’ question for the moment as he pulls the blanket partially away from Sam and grasps Sam’s left hand. He takes in the dried blood smeared on thumb and finger. “There was a few blood drops on the basement floor. Sammy touched the stuff to see how wet it was. Then he rubbed his fingers together. This is how she did it,” Dean indicates the bloodied finger and thumb, before he grabs the canister of wipes - never mind the fact they’re for thermometer probes – and uses one to scrub the blood from Sam’s skin.

“I’m sure the spell is no longer upon Sam, Dean. Not since I destroyed the sigils.”

“Aware of that. But I ain’t having this crap on my kid’s skin another second longer.”

Sam starts to shift again, a soft whimper leaving his throat as his head twists from side to side. Dean places a hand on his kid’s chest to try and soothe him. But then the blood starts trickling out of Sammy’s nose. Swiftly sitting Sam up, Dean draws his kid onto his lap and pinches his nostrils. Unlike last night, Sammy’s eyes don’t snap open into immediate waking, but Dean’s name is mumbled from his lips while fingers anxiously scrabble in the centre of Dean’s chest, opening and closing around air.

Damn. Dean closes his eyes and brushes a kiss against Sam’s hair in silent apology as he knows what those fingers are seeking. What they always did when Sammy was sick or hurting or just wanted comfort after the Christmas of ’91. The amulet Dean no longer wears about his neck, or owns.

He had regretted throwing it away the minute he’d stepped out of that motel, but was still too pissed with everything to walk back in that room and retrieve it from the trashcan while his brother was still inside. And then it was too late; they were driving away. In utter silence. And too late was it when he realised he had been played by that fucked up angel Zachariah. Again. A play to leave him with no faith, in anyone, including the kid in his lap, and prepared to say yes to an archangel to end it all. He’d told that kid, Marie, he doesn’t need a symbol to remind him how he feels about his brother, his kid, and that’s still true. But Sam… To Sam the meaning of the amulet was always twofold. Because Sammy hadn’t gifted the amulet just to his twelve-year-old big brother, but also to the ‘man’ he saw raising him every day.

Fuck. “Sammy, I’m sorry,” he whispers softly against his kids’ hair and purposefully avoids the piercing eyes he can feel staring at him. “If I could get it back, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“He knows, Dean,” Cas says with quiet understanding.

Dean shakes his head, eyes shifting to his partner. “If…” Dean has to stop to clear his throat, “… if he knew that, Cas, he wouldn’t be searching for it.”

Cas stares at him until his eyes fall to the wad of tissue in his hold now seeped with Sammy’s blood. “Is this normal, Dean? Of a fever or a nightmare?”

“When have we ever dealt in normal, Cas?” Dean shakes his head again before placing his chin atop Sam’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what'd you think? Good, bad, ugly? :)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry it has taken me so freaking long to get this out. It came in at roughly thirty thousand words, so I’ve had to split it again, but good news is I wrote the end half first so Chapter 12 is pretty much ready to go (though don’t expect it to be posted straight away – a couple weeks at least.)
> 
> But this chapter, I've really struggled with it. I don’t know why, and I’m still not sure I like it; it feels choppy and maybe doesn’t flow as well as the others. But I don’t know what more I can do with it, so this is it. 
> 
> Also a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who is still sticking by this story even when the author is slow getting the chapter’s out. You ROCK guys!! :)

“Thanks, man. Tell Kara I really appreciate it,” Dean says into his phone. “Hopefully we’ll be to you in a couple days…” he pauses to listen. “Alright, man. Will do. And thanks again.”

Ending the call he lets out a sigh and shoves his phone back in his pocket as he turns his full concentration to the shelves before him amidst the stores variety of offerings in baby and toddler products.

He’s trying to find a suitable item to cover the sheet on the mattress of Sammy’s bed so its protected as much as possible from the sweat the kid’s fevered body is giving off. Something that shouldn’t even be necessary, but the bitch in the motel’s office refuses to supply them with further bedding on account of already having needed three sets in the space of a day.

Because it all went downhill after Sammy’s second nosebleed; the hundred degree temperature rocketing until Dean had had no choice but to go the route of the ice water bath to cool his brother down. And twice now they’ve thought they were out of the woods and the fever was ready to fuck the hell off, but each time and within the space of an hour it sauntered back in with a vengeance.

Just like clockwork.

As if it’s fucking laughing at them.

And Dean has zero patience for a bitch who can show not even an ounce of fucking care for the sick kid, _his kid_ , who occupied her precious fucking bedsheets. And there’s seriously something wrong with the world when the King of Hell can display more emotion than a human fucking being.

Dean shakes his head.

He had even offered to wash the damn sheets himself if she’d just be _kind_ enough to point him in the direction of the laundry room. But lo and behold guests are strictly prohibited from entering the laundry room.

_Yeah, fuck you and your shithole of a place too, lady._

Woman’s damn lucky Dean left his gun in the room.

And dammit, if Sammy wasn’t running over a one-oh-three temperature Dean would have got the kid out of there and to a motel, or a hotel, that does have a fucking laundry room available to guests. But here he is standing in the middle of a store twenty minutes away from his sick kid instead. And if he didn’t need to get other supplies he would be further pissed over this journey away from his Sammy.

And though Dean may have begrudgingly left Cas watching over his sleeping kid, Sammy has never taken too well to anyone else looking after him or being there when he’s sick. Nor is Dean used to someone else taking care of his kid when he’s sick either.

Even when that someone is Cas.

His eyes zero in on packets of bed mats next to kids night-time pants; roving over the individual packets with speed until he narrows it down to just the one packet that seems like it will do the job. A packet of _Goodnites Bed Mats,_ which are apparently super absorbent and stick into place at the corners so they won't shift with Sammy when the kid does.

Yeah, they'd have to see how accurate that turns out to be. Sammy’s even more of a fidget when a fever is raging through his system.

Dean dumps two packs in his basket and moves off; grateful the central aisle of the baby section is separated in half, with a walkway through the middle. It allows him to get to the sippy-cups without wasting time.

And shit, there’s just too much fucking variety in sippy-cups!

How the hell is he meant to choose just one?

If the cup Sammy has now didn’t have an unsealed fucking hole in the top for the straw that allows leakage when tipped sideways, Dean wouldn’t even be bothering with this right now.

He has a sick kid to get back to, dammit.

But he needs something more secure to get fluids into Sammy; something that can be tipped sideways or upside down and won't leak a drop without his say so. And will stop them having to force Sammy to sit up when he’s too tired or confused to do so.

He finally settles on a tall and plain non-spill clear blue cup with two handles that Sam will be able to get his fingers around without much difficulty, and which has a soft clear spout and dark blue lid. And it's insulated with two layers. Which will come in handy when they’re in the Impala; Sammy will be able to have a drink and Dean won’t have to grumble about the condensation from cool drinks getting on his seats.

He starts to move away only to go back to grab another two; one in green and one in orange. It never hurts to have extras and it'll save him another trip if need be. Plus this way, they can always have a cup at the ready.

Satisfied, he heads down the aisle only to stop after three strides as he comes to the section of pacifiers. He bites at his lip as he stares at them. Because even after all the kicking of his own ass he’s done for not purchasing one back at the store in Nebraska, Dean is still debating with himself as to whether it is a good idea after all.

For while Sam had a pacifier as a child for much longer than necessarily suitable, Sam is not a baby, or a toddler, or a child any longer. Despite the recent displays of younger behaviour.

Or the way Dean may feel.

And while the cups and bed mats are a requirement at the moment with Sammy sick, does Dean really have any right to force a pacifier back on Sam just to stop the kid from sucking his thumb? Especially when this could all blow over with some right answers to the spell used to cure Dean.

And isn’t that the real question?

Whether or not the thumb-sucking is going to decrease anytime soon. At least back to the level Sammy use to suck his thumb. Because if Dean knew for definite one way or another, right now and in this moment, Dean would not hold any reservations about purchasing a pacifier for his kid.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his hair.

Because he also holds the knowledge Sam _wants_ his pacifier back; the longing he had witnessed in the kid’s eyes in Nebraska proof enough of that.

And then his breath catches in his throat.

Because there it is.

A pack of three pacifiers.

Each one decorated with a different figure of a pup; the central one sitting back on its haunches and staring up at him with big soulful eyes that are practically begging him to pick it up.

He snorts; not quite believing that his reservations are being blown apart in the face of fucking cartoon puppy eyes as he snatches a packet off the rail and dumps it in his basket.

“Damn kid,” he grumbles under his breath as he finally exits the baby department.

Ten minutes later Dean stands at the cash register, impatiently waiting for the cashier to scan the rest of his purchases when his phone blares with the ringtone attached to contacts from the hunter’s network. Ditching the two bottles of _Glacier Cherry Gatorade_ from his hands into the supplied bag, he digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone. Sliding his thumb across the screen to take the call, he sets the phone between his shoulder and left ear so he can continue packing. 

“This is Dean… Al, hey man, any joy?”

 

**#SPN#**

 

_Nonononono_ …

The word fires rapidly through Dean’s mind two minutes away from the motel as he slams his foot on the brake and prays to whoever the fuck is listening that he can bring the Impala to a stop in time.

The squeal of tyres disappears into silence three seconds later and Dean is sure he’s forgotten how to do that thing where you draw oxygen into your body as he feels his heart pounding a rapid beat against his ribcage.

Because… fuck …

He nearly just …

He nearly …

Breathe, Dean … Breathing would be a good idea right about _now_ , Dean!

And finally Dean blows out the breath that had caught in his throat at the sight before him; then draws in that needed oxygen before once again blowing it out as his eyes meet the wide, glassy, bloodshot and way too close eyes belonging to his baby brother.

_My baby brother._

Who Dean nearly just ran over with his fucking car.

Peeling his fingers from around the steering wheel, Dean throws open his door and flies out the car with a call to his brother. Sam doesn’t move or respond, the kid leaning over with his hands splayed out on the hood and the front bumper of the Impala brushing the front lower legs of Sammy’s sweatpants.

_Fuck. Way too close._

Dean grabs hold of his kid, pulling him back up to standing and checking him over for any potential injury with both his eyes and hands. Finding none, Dean’s fear explodes out of him in the usual gruff manner, “What the hell were you thinking, Sam?!”

Sam just blinks at him, his sweat-dripping face awash with confusion while a whole body shiver passes through him. Dean slips his arms out of his jacket and gets it on the kid with little difficulty, covering the thin long-sleeve shirt Sam likes to wear to bed.

“Find De,” the kid murmurs before those long arms wind around Dean. “‘M good boy, ‘cause-‘cause finds De. Like De tells me. ‘M good boy.”

Dean closes his eyes and blows out a breath. He can feel the heat radiating off of his kid’s body and he doesn’t need a thermometer to tell him he needs to get Sammy cooled down again right the fuck now. “That’s right, bud. You’re a good boy,” Dean praises, rubbing a hand over his kid’s back as he manoeuvres them both around to the passenger side. “You found me just like I’ve told you too.”

_When you were a shrimp_ , Dean adds silently while pulling open the passenger door, _and not a badass hunter that I nearly fucking mowed down with my car_.

“Mmhmm,” Sammy hums as one of those big feet catches on the car on the way in and the kid flops face first onto the seat.

With one of the kid's legs still hanging outside the car, Dean tries to shift the kid around but Sam just pulls the leg up underneath him on the seat. Calling for a little more patience, Dean pats a hand against the butt practically sticking up in his face.

“Sammy, you’re too big to sit like this anymore, remember? C’mon, sit up straight.” Sam makes no move to do so and Dean has to bodily move the kid so he has his butt on the seat instead, easily grasping the kid’s wrist as Sam swats at him.

Getting the door closed, Dean rounds the car to the trunk and grabs out their green blanket before parking his ass back behind the wheel. Passing the blanket off to Sammy, Dean aims the Impala for the motel once again. Noticing Sammy has only grasped a corner of the blanket to hold against his right cheek, Dean reaches over while keeping his eyes on the road and sets the blanket to cover his kid.  

“Sammy, where’s Cas?” He questions.

“Birdy angry.”

“At who?” Cas is already walking a fine line with Dean’s anger for letting Sam wander off, he does not want to hear Cas was yelling at Sammy too.

“Vulture-bat,” Sam supplies.

Dean frowns, confused. “Who?”

“I gots scared.” Sammy says instead of supplying a name or description and the guilt steadily sweeps its way through Dean.

The kid had never had a problem admitting to being scared when he was little and if Dean’s honest with himself, right now in this moment, that’s what Sam’s fully reverted to in his sickness.

“So I finds De make angry noises go ‘way,” Sammy continues. “Why …”

The kid trails off, and glancing over Dean watches the confusion that had still been lingering on Sam’s face and in his eyes seep into an accusatory glare directed solely at Dean. One that doesn’t pass muster against the kid’s normal strength of bitch faces, but Dean understands what it means easily enough. And that guilt just keeps on hitting.

“I know,” Dean reaches over and gives the kid’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know, buddy. I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“Where… go?”

“Had to get some stuff to help you feel better, Sammy,” Dean tells him returning his hand to the wheel as he pulls them into the motel lot. “‘Cause we both know you hate feeling like this.”

“Feel… better?” Sammy’s face scrunches up and Dean can practically feel the bench seat vibrate with the force of Sam’s shivering. “Nah-uh… yucky.”

“Yeah, I know, bud. It’s yucky being sick. I’m gonna help you with that when we get in the room, okay, Sammy.” Dean has to control the ire in his voice when he continues talking to his brother because he now knows who ‘vulture-bat’ is as he spots Cas outside their room; the other man looking about ready to smite the bitch from the office any second. “You gonna let me do that, Sammy?”  

“Nah-uh. Cold.”

“I know, bud. The water _has_ to be cold. And I know it sucks. But you’re gonna be a big brave boy for me, right?” Dean glances sideways at his kid, who is nibbling on his bottom lip.

Sam nods a moment later, strands of his damp hair clinging to his sweaty face. “‘M brave, De.”

Dean gives him a gentle smile. “I know you are, buddy.” Dean opens his door and steps out of the car, quickly leaning down to look back in at Sam. “You stay there, you hear?”  

“Uh-huh.”

“Good boy.”

Closing the car door doesn’t draw either Cas or the women’s attention. It’s not until Dean plants his fingers in his mouth and whistles, loud and piercing, that they both realise his presence. And if a small fleeting moment of satisfaction passes through Dean when the women jumps, well, who’s to know. It doesn’t make him a bad person. It just makes him human. And a smug one at that.

“Care to tell me what the hell’s going on here?” The women opens her mouth, and Dean’s about had it with the screeching sound of her voice and sharply holds up his hand. “Wasn’t asking you, sweetheart.” The women sniffs in indignation, her less than flattering facial features twisting into a harder glare, an expression Sammy has beat any day of the week, including when he’s behaving like a three year old. “Cas?”

“ _She_ …” with the amount of venom spat out through that one word alone Sammy should have likened Cas to a reptile instead of a bird, “… is trying to claim we have not paid up for tonight. Nor last night. And wishes us to vacate the premises immediately or she will call the police to remove us.”

Sliding his wallet out of his back pocket as soon as Cas mentions payment, Dean snorts unamused at the man’s latter words. There is no way in fucking hell they are leaving yet. And opening his wallet, he pulls out the receipt with the Redfern Grove Motel motif blazoned across the head, and the dates of their stay and holds it out in front of the women.

Dean smiles a smile that is all pissed off big brother, because let’s face it, she’s a major part of the reason _he_ was nearly the cause of harming his baby brother. “Would you like me to go with you to verify in your books or on your computer …” Dean glances down at the nametag on her blouse for the first time, “… Gretchen?”

Gretchen’s nostrils flare, and she turns on her heels and stomps angrily away like she’s got a stick up her ass.  

Cas turns to him, his anger still splayed across his flushed cheeks. “What did you say to her that pissed her off so much, Dean?”

Dean raises an eyebrow at his partner. “All I did was ask her for extra bedding like I told you. But while you were out here having it out with her did you happen to notice something different?”

“Different?” Cas queries confused.

“Yeah, Cas, _different_. Like maybe the room being a little emptier?”

Cas’ eyes widen. “Sam,” he gasps before turning on his heels to head into the room.

Dean grabs the back of Cas’ shirt and spins him back around in the direction of the Impala, where Sam is now curled up against the passenger door with his thumb in his mouth. His eyes are barely open, but he wiggles the fingers of the hand connected to his mouth at Cas in greeting.

“I told you to watch him, Cas,” Dean hisses in his partner’s ear, his anger seeing him give Cas a slight shove towards the Impala as he lets him go. “Instead I nearly fucking ran him over with my car.”

Cas spins to stare at him, guilt clouding his eyes. “Sam had only just woken when she came banging on the door, Dean. I had little choice but to open it to her. But Sam did not come passed me,” he explains while swiftly rounding the car to the driver’s side and opening the door.

Dean takes several breath’s to bring his anger under control as Cas leans down to talk to Sam. It isn’t all Cas’ fault; the guy hasn’t yet learnt to have six pairs of eyes where Sammy’s concerned. And clearly Sam heard the shouting match and the kid doesn’t do so well with ‘angry noises’ when he’s this unwell and Dean isn’t present. Sam would have taken the closest escape route away from the shouting in his need to find Dean, and for Sammy, Dean has little doubt that was the bathroom window that swings open from the bottom.

Shaking his head with an angry sigh, Dean rounds the car to the passenger side. He taps on the window, but Sam doesn’t budge and Cas has to reach out and pull Sam away from the door so Dean can open it. Slipping an arm around Sam’s back, Dean hauls the kid out and without physically carrying him while in public, gets Sam into the room where Dean does pick the kid up onto his hip so he can carry him through to the bathroom.

First closing the window that is blowing a cold draft into the room, Dean then sets Sam down on the closed toilet. He ensures his kid is steady and won’t topple forwards or sideways before taking a step towards the tub. Unfortunately his baby brother tries to strangle him with the collar of his own tee and Dean is forced to step backwards, reaching behind him and grasping the fingers curled into the back hem of both his outer shirt and tee.

“Sammy, I’m right here, bud. I’m not leaving the bathroom, okay, but I need to get the bathwater running.” Another tug on his tee, strong for his brother in his fevered state, has him halting again. “Alright, bud,” Dean pries the fingers off and prevents imminent tears by scooping Sammy back up onto his hip.

Sam’s head immediately drops down onto his shoulder, a small sigh leaving the kid.

Patting Sammy on the back, Dean crosses to the tub and while holding Sam with one arm secure under his butt, he twists the cold faucet on full.

#

Guilt is not a foreign concept to Castiel. And as he watches Dean help his brother into the motel room, his lack of awareness to Sam during his argument with Gretchen sees the emotion swimming through him as he quietly closes the driver side door.

Noticing the grocery bags sitting on the backseat, Cas opens the back door and grasps the bags, lifting them out of the car. Shifting them up into his arms, he closes the door and realises the key us still sitting in the ignition. Steadying the bags on top of the roof, Cas reopens the driver’s door and takes the keys from the ignition, before once again closing the door and with a twist of the key, he locks it.

Carrying the bags inside their room, he sets them down upon the table first before closing the door behind him.

_Though it was not just a case of my lack of awareness_ , the thought quietly invades his mind as he begins unpacking the bags. He _had_ requested Sam remain in his bed while Cas answered the door. Unfortunately, the boy did not seem to recognise Cas as his friend upon waking, and Cas was granted no time to reassure him. Sam would have only seen that Cas was most assuredly _not_ Dean; the one the boy had been searching and calling for.

However, Cas should also have known Sam would not remain when he thought he was in the company of a stranger. And Cas would have been loath to accidentally hurt his little one by trying to forcefully restrain him if it had come to that. But given the choice between restraining Sam and possibly marginally hurting him, and seeing Sam killed in the street by his own brother’s car or another driver, Cas would have chosen the former.

That is if Sam had even allowed himself to be restrained. For while Cas still houses angelic strength within his human body, Sam and Dean have often proven themselves more resourceful and more dangerous than any angel or demon.

Especially where each other is concerned.

They are trained and experienced fighters. Taught to fight those stronger in physical strength than themselves - long before Dean acquired and retained demonic strength. And Castiel is confused with his thoughts behind the development of such skills. Because he is unsure if he wishes to know to which lengths John Winchester may have gone to teach his sons those skills. While also being grateful to the man for having a hand in the Winchester brothers’ longevity.

If you exclude the deaths they have both experienced and suffered.

But the moment Sam woke in his fevered state without his brother’s presence in his vicinity, Castiel became a potential threat. Which was accentuated all the more in Sam’s reality by Cas’ argument with Gretchen. And perhaps they should count themselves lucky that Sam did not come out there and attack both Cas and Gretchen in thinking them threats to a missing Dean.

For Sam is often described as the more quietly dangerous of the Winchester brothers’ because he’s unpredictable. And even with a one hundred and three temperature Sam Winchester can deliver serious damage when pushed to it.

If he does not climb his way out of a window first.

Hearing a splash from the bathroom draws Castiel from his thoughts and he places the packet of absorbent mats he was reading down upon the table to cross through to the bathroom. Standing in the doorway his lips twitch as he surveys the situation before him.

“Yeah, that wasn’t exactly helpful, Sammy,” Dean grouches, swiping a hand down his now wet face, a small puddle of water building on the floor around him.

Behind the gruff tone, however, Cas can detect the fond amusement as Dean kneels down by the side of the tub; using a washcloth to wet Sam’s hair and skin to cool the fire raging through the little one’s body.  

And Cas has never fully appreciated just how much of a remarkable human being Dean is.

Dean is judged; often brutally and unfairly for being impatient, brash, overprotective, having a quick-fire temper, and even for being a hunter by those who would see him out of the life for good.

Preferably by no longer existing.  

An opinion he himself of old had too often held; a disconnect between seeing the man and the mission.

Until he had seen the soul he had pulled from hell by his own hand. Damaged and flayed, but still with its bright core that Alastair had not been able to reach.

So much brighter than any soul that resided in hell at the time.

The truth of Dean Winchester lying beneath the surface. Just as it lies behind the facades the man presents to the world on any given day.

The pressures he upholds on a daily basis felling many others. Yet Dean Winchester shoulders them when he should not have to.

Both Winchesters’ do.

And while Cas has always known Dean cares deeply for Sam and will do anything for the boy, he has never truly been a witness to how different Dean is when caring for Sam in this way. The Winchesters’ very rarely allowing anyone behind the walls to see the reality behind the faces of the famous hunters.

And Cas finds himself wanting to do whatever he is able to do to lessen the impact a hunters life places upon the brothers. Even if that comes by way of the smallest and simplest of things.

He watches worried as Sam shifts in the far too small tub so he can rest his wet head upon Dean’s closest shoulder, the little one clearly still feeling wretched. And Cas wishes he could do more. That he could heal this away. But he knows even if he had the use of his powers he would be unable to heal a mystical based fever, just as he could not heal the effects the demon trials had upon Sam until much later.

“Cas, can you get his back?”

Cas blinks out of his thoughts at the sound of his partner’s voice, quickly running the question through his mind and is surprised to even be offered the chance to help with how angry Dean had been with him only minutes prior. But he does not give up his chance to be forgiven, and steps forward, taking the washcloth Dean holds out to him.

Dropping to his own knees beside Dean and dipping the cloth into the cold water, Cas cannot help the feeling of privilege in being allowed passed the wall to bear witness to these moments in the Winchesters’ lives.

And as light shivers pass through his little one when the water cascades down his back, Cas can only hope that perhaps it may finally be because of the cool water rather than the fever coursing through Sam’s body.

#

Leaving the task of drying and dressing Sam to Dean minutes later, Cas exits the bathroom intent on heating up one of the tins of soup Dean purchased at the store. And also to find the crackers he knows are amongst their belongings somewhere. He did watch the packet being processed through the cash register in Nebraska and not one of them has consumed any as far as he is aware.

So they _must_ be here.

And he needs to find them for hopefully today Sam will feel more like eating.

But as Cas picks up the tin of chicken soup, his eyes fall upon a pack of underwear sitting amongst the purchased items on the table. And being aware that Sam has sweated his way through the small collection of underwear Dean packed for the journey, Cas pokes his head around the bedroom opening.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“Do you require these briefs for Sam?”

“Oh, yeah. Bring us a pair would ya?”

Attempting to open the packet a moment later, frustration takes over Cas when he cannot peel away the small, round and irritating piece of scotch tape sealing the opening.

Moving to cross towards the kitchenette for a knife, he instead remembers the pocket knife Dean insisted Cas keep on his person at all times and withdraws it from his back jeans pocket. Flicking it open, he uses the tip to slice through the tape. Satisfied, he returns the knife to his pocket.

Finally opening up the packet, he removes one pair of the five blue-coloured briefs as he makes his way to the bathroom. He sets the underwear upon the far edge of the vanity in easy reach of Dean who has his hands full with rubbing a towel over Sam’s hair to remove as much moisture as possible.

The little one looks like he is ready to fall back to sleep where he sits on the closed toilet seat, a towel wrapped around his waist and another around his shoulders; a thumb having made its way between Sam’s lips once more.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

Cas nods. “Oh,” he turns back to face Dean only a step outside the bathroom. “Where did you put the crackers?”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “In a bag?”

“Yes, Dean. Which one?”

“I don’t know. It was a bag shaped bag, Cas.”

Cas refrains from rolling his eyes up to his former home. “I will search,” he murmurs on his way out of the bedroom, picking up the tin of soup as he passes the table on his way to the stove.

Emptying the tins contents into a saucepan, Cas sets it upon the hotplate on a medium heat. Understanding from the tins instructions that he has a few minutes to wait, he sets about finding the elusive crackers. But searching the bags between intermittently stirring the soup, Cas finds nothing.

“How can they have disappeared?” he mutters.

“They didn’t.”

Cas spins around to see his partner has removed his wet outer shirt. He has a freshly dressed Sam perched on his right hip, the little one staring at Cas through half-lidded eyes, thumb in his mouth and fingers of the same hand gripping the shoulder of Dean’s grey tee that has a few wet patches. But as the man lifts his left arm, there in Dean’s hand are the crackers.

“Where were they?” he queries, taking the offered packet.

“In the canvas bag in the bedroom.” Dean remarks, crossing the living space to the back where the couch resides and tries to sit Sam upon a cushion. ‘Tries’ is the operative word Cas believes, as Sam just clings harder to his brother and lets out a tired whine. “You know the small one with the baby wipes and tissues in. Alright, Sammy.” Dean straightens again, shifting Sam slightly on his hip and rubbing the boy’s back.

“I didn’t think to look in there,” Cas states, stepping back to the stove to stir the soup once again and check if it is heated appropriately. Scooping up a small portion onto a spoon, Cas sets it to his lips, blows and places it in his mouth. He spits it back out and grabs a bottle of water, taking a large gulp before blowing out a breath. “That is far too hot for Little One to consume yet.”

“Dump it in a bowl anyway. It’ll cool down,” Dean advises, crossing the floor to the table to pick up one of the sippy-cup’s Cas earlier placed upon the surface while Cas pours the soup into a bowl.

Dean divests the sippy of its packaging with a too sharp one-handed tug that sees the blue sippy fly into the air. “Crap.” Dean grumbles, fingers curling around the cup as he catches it on its descent.

Cas raises an eyebrow, amused by the sight, while he takes one of the smallest size plates from a cupboard and sets a few crackers upon it. Setting both the bowl and plate on a tray, and leaving Dean to deal with Sam’s juice, Cas picks up the nearest packet of absorbent mats from the table.

“Cas, you’re not our maid, man, I can do that.”

Cas arch’s an eyebrow at Dean. “ _And_ feed Sam?”

“Good point. You do it.”

Cas smiles and returns to carrying the packet into the bedroom. First removing blankets and pillows and placing them on his and Dean’s bed, Cas then straightens out Sam’s rumpled bottom sheet. He unseals the pack of mats and draws one out, unfolding it into a larger mat than he had been expecting.

Though larger, he looks from the mat to the queen bed and frowns.

Picking up the packet, he rereads it and immediately realises the problem. The mats are designed for twin beds. Clearly the manufacturers never thought of them as having a requirement such as this.

_Nor, I imagine, would they think a human being could be so tragically emotionless not to offer such assistance in supplying further bedding._

Cas shakes his head, determined to keep his mind from that woman lest his anger become the better of him. And so instead, he turns his attention to figuring out the rough dimensions of the bed before him.

And with the sizing in his head a moment later, Cas decides to use four mats; two mats at two-and-a-half feet each will cover the width of the roughly five foot bed, while the mats length of three feet will cover the roughly six-and-a-half foot length of the bed. Sam is a fidget, and Cas has witnessed his little one wriggling fully across the mattress and back in his fevered state several times now so the more coverage the better.

Nodding at his assessment, Cas sets about laying the mats down, situating them all upon the mattress first as instructed before pealing back the adhesive strips and pressing down firmly to seal it to the sheet. Job complete minutes later, Cas returns the two pillows to the head of the bed and folds the top sheet and blanket at the end of the bed ready to cover Sam over.

Returning to the living area, Cas smiles lightly. Dean has managed to set Sam down on the couch with Dean seated on the coffee table before the little one. But Dean is now shirtless, with his tee residing in Sam’s hand and curled against his cheek as he opens his mouth to accept the spoonful of soup Dean feeds him. The excess of which inevitably dribbles down Sam’s chin and upon Dean’s shirt, which also houses a few cracker crumbs.  

The blue sippy-cup sits on the coffee table beside Dean, and Cas wonders if the other man has managed to have Sam accept it yet. Cas hopes so. The little one needs more fluids than he has been receiving through his straw sippy due to the hole in the lid and Sam having to be awake and aware enough to draw up the liquid.

Walking back into the bedroom, Cas retrieves a clean tee from Dean’s duffle and takes it out to the man, draping it over his partner’s left shoulder. Dean gives him a quick smile of thanks before returning to his task of feeding Sam another spoonful. Cas smiles in return at both his boys.  

And with Sam and Dean occupied, Cas sets about making sandwiches for himself and Dean using the leftover chicken from last evenings meal. If he does not prepare it, he has become aware that Dean will not eat anything. At least until Sam is settled and asleep once more. And sometimes not even then, for Dean will sit with Sam, ensuring no more nightmares visit the little one’s mind.

He would note it is not healthy for Dean to run himself into the ground in taking care of his brother, but Cas knows the words would float in one ear and out the other without implanting within what Dean calls the ‘grey matter’ situated in-between those ears.

So Cas will see to it that both brothers are taken care of. And that Dean especially does not fall fail of illness after they have Sam back on his feet.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sammy snuffles in his sleep and shifts restlessly as he lays against Dean’s chest, his nose slightly blocked with crusted blood residue from his latest nightmare and nosebleed combo. And leaning down to check the crusting hasn’t turned into a liquid flow once again, Dean is relieved to find his brother’s nostrils have remained dry.

Now he is able to turn his attention to the nightmare trying to invade his kid’s mind once more. A nightmare Dean intends to head off at the pass and the accompanying nosebleed along with it; rubbing soothing circles over Sammy’s back and scratching his fingers gently against Sam’s scalp.

It takes only moments for Sam to settle and start suckling upon his thumb again. And dammit, Dean doesn’t want to rock the boat but he needs that thumb out of his kid’s mouth with this fever hitting him.

He and Cas are pretty certain the fever is Sam's body purging itself of Rowena's magic, but they have no way of knowing for sure as Cas can't lay a diagnostic finger upon Sam's forehead to find out without potentially and severely damaging Sammy from the backlash of power use. Something that may already be happening if the nosebleeds are any indication.

And worst case scenario - the burning has progressed exponentially and they are being given far less time to figure this all out and to set things right.

Something he and Cas have yet to voice out loud. And Dean has no intention of doing so.  

But while he would love to bury his head in the sand and brush aside that scenario – _that is not happening on my watch again_ – he is too aware it might become an extreme possibility in the near future.

Fuck, Dean wishes they could go back to the days where Sammy would fall sick with just plain old normal everyday colds and fevers. Dean knows what to do with that. Throw mystical fucking fevers into the mix and shit, he feels useless.

He felt useless during the demon trials.

And he feels just as useless now.

Just sitting and waiting for Sammy to kick its ass.

_You ARE gonna kick this in the ass, Sammy, you hear me?_

_Please._

“Dammit!”

Dean clears his throat and leans over slightly to raise an eyebrow at Cas seated at the table in the other room.

“This message is informing me the free Wi-Fi allowance has run out,” Cas explains unhappily, pointing at the laptop screen.

_Of course it has_. Dean sighs. _Because my data plan doesn’t want to work in this fucking town._

They’ve had to resort to the motel Wi-Fi. Which is only free for the first five hours and clearly that’s just ran out. And Dean doesn’t have Sammy’s skill to hack the system to shut down the town’s fucking confining net over its Wi-Fi and prevent it from interfering with the data plan.

Dean shifts slightly off his ass without dislodging Sammy. “Bring me the pacifier with the big eyes, and you can have the card,” he tells Cas, pulling his wallet out of his back jeans pocket.

Cas appears only a moment later holding one of the new pacifiers in his fingers; using a sheet of kitchen towel to dry the plastic area and avoiding the clear nipple that has signs of wetness still upon it. Cas holds it out to him. Dean exchanges it for his credit card with the name Smith on it; the surname they checked in with.

“Shout if you need help,” he tells Cas’ retreating back, unsure if the former-angel has ever input credit card details into a computer before.

“I will do my best to figure it out by myself first.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Carefully removing the thumb from Sammy’s mouth, Dean replaces it with the pacifier that has the big-eyed puppy upon it. Sammy immediately starts suckling, and Dean is all set to silently cheer when he realises the kid must recognise, even in his sleep, that the texture and size is much different than that of his thumb because Sam starts to whimper and spits it out.

However, Sam’s lips are still sticking out, still instinctively seeking the comfort, and instead of giving into what Sammy wants, Dean perseveres by slipping the nipple back in between Sammy’s lips. He places a finger to the pup, pressing the pacifier gently against Sam’s lips to keep it in place and hopes his kid adapts himself to it fairly quickly.

Because forcing the issue is not what Dean had wanted to do.

But within minutes Dean feels the pacifier bob up and down beneath his finger and smiles. He slowly let’s go and is pleased when it remains where it is between Sammy’s lips.

And it should look utterly weird, but instead it’s as undeniably cute as it ever has been.  

Dean shakes his head at his own thoughts.

 

**#SPN#**

“Sammy, where you off to, bud?” Dean questions lightly as he watches Sam roll off the edge of the bed onto his knees the opposite side to which Dean is sitting, the upper portion of the kid’s body still curled against the mattress.

“Pot… pot-tee,” Sammy says slowly, eyelids sluggishly blinking up at him.

“Not on the floor I hope,” Dean responds, standing and rounding the bed.

“Silly, De.” Figures the kid would still be able to pronounce that correctly with his currently slurred vocabulary.

And of course Sam would choose the exact second Dean steps behind him to pick him up to let out an enormous fart. Dean nose twitches at the immediate stink and just hopes there wasn’t any follow through going on there. And rather not chance the possibility, Dean swiftly scoops up his kid, whose nose is scrunched up, a hand moving up to cover it.

“De, you poo-pooed.”

“Sure. Yep. That was me.” Dean snorts, setting Sammy down on the toilet after pulling his sweats and underwear down, quickly checking the briefs are still clean.

Finding they are, Dean moves away and perches on the edge of the tub to wait out his now off-key singing kid, half the words jumbled and mumbled Dean can’t figure out what Sammy’s actually singing. That, or he doesn’t actually know the song because it’s some punk-ass pop music number that Dean doesn’t give a fuck about.  

“Finished?” Dean questions a few minutes later.

At Sammy’s nod Dean makes swift work of wiping the kid clean, before hauling him up from the toilet and situating the kid’s clothing back into place. Helping Sammy wash his hands, then washing his own, Dean has to forgo the towel and swipes his hands dry on his jeans as Sammy wanders back into the bedroom unsteadily.

Placing himself in front of his stumbling baby brother and grasping him by the upper arms to keep him upright, Dean steers the kid back to the bed. However, Sammy is intent on going in the opposite direction and Dean has to stop them both from tumbling to the floor.

“Sammy. _This_ way.”

“Nuh-uh. Re… Re’h…” Sam waves his hands around as his face scrunches up against the struggle he’s having producing the correct word.

A word Dean knows all too well as this is the third time Sam has attempted to get back to the research since the fever hit. Except the kid had managed to get a hold of his tablet the last time while Dean was taking a desperate piss and Cas was getting them food across the street. Sam had been attempting to read the screen through unfocused, half-lidded eyes when Dean returned from the bathroom; the kid accusing Dean of changing the tablet language to Portuguese. Which… is something Dean _would_ do. But not when his kid is sick.

“Research?” Dean supplies the word his brother is looking for.

“Mmhmm,” Sammy hums.

Dean shakes his head. “Think again, bud. The only place you’re going right now is back to bed.”

“Nuh-uh.” Sam starts to shake his own head before stopping abruptly to press a hand to his forehead. “Ow.”

“Yeah, exactly. Now, c’mon, back to bed.”

“Nuh-uh. ‘M fine,” Sammy protests.

_Yeah, I’ve heard that before_.

Deciding a slightly firmer approach is currently required, Dean turns his voice firm, “Sam. Bed. Now.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Refraining from rolling his eyes at the repeated phrase, Dean pokes a finger against Sam’s chest; catching the kid when he too easily starts to topple backwards and lowers him gently down onto the bed-mat covered mattress.

“Yeah, you’re perfectly fine, Sammy.”

Sam pouts up at him. “Dumb-bum,” he mutters, his eyes closing.

Dean snorts, patting the kid on the chest lightly. “Such big talk, Sammy.”

“Gaaah,” Sammy grumbles, throwing up an arm to wildly swat him away before finding it too energetic and the arm flops back down to the bed and stays there.

Grabbing Sammy’s medicine from the cluttered nightstand, Dean presses down on the childproof cap and twists it open before picking up the spoon. Pouring the correct amount of purple liquid into the tube, he sets the spoon to Sammy’s mouth and tips it up so the liquid runs out easily.

“Swallow that down, Sammy.”

The kid’s Adam’s apple bounces as he does as instructed, before he pulls his legs up and curls himself sideways on the bed. He draws his thumb up to his lips and Dean stops him, quickly pressing a pacifier passed Sam’s lips instead and Sammy starts suckling.

“Sleep, buddy,” Dean says, moving slightly to grasp the sheet and thick blanket to cover Sammy back over when two large hands grip at his forearm and hand for dear life.

Dean frowns and opens his mouth to tell his kid he _needs_ to sleep when Sammy looks up at him through his eyelashes, hazel eyes imploring, and cheeks flushed.

“S'ay?” Sammy whispers around the pacifier.  

“That’s the idea, kiddo,” Dean twists the truth a little and shifts himself around until he’s leaning back against the headboard, his legs crossed at the ankles upon the mattress.

Research can wait for the time it takes Sammy to slip into sleep.

Dean holds out his arm. Sam shifts closer and lays his head upon Dean’s chest, ear above his heart and the kid latches onto Dean’s shirt, fingers curling tightly into the folds. Dean wraps his arm around the kid and runs his hand soothingly up and down Sammy’s arm, his frown deepening.

_What's in this nightmare that’s still scaring you, kiddo?_ He silently questions, for Sam's already proven he doesn't want anything to do with the nightmare he’s been experiencing, including dishing out the cliff notes version for Dean and Cas.

They had only been lucky enough to be told about Sammy's fear that he's not really free of the demon blood, that Azazel somehow is going to feed him the stuff once again, because of the hunt at the time. And Dean at this time can't demand an explanation out of Sammy without being a complete hypocrite himself. For there are dreams and nightmares he isn't willing to share with his kid.

And that's been the rule for a long time; they don't have to share in a chick-flick moment by spilling their guts to each other.

But maybe it's time they changed that up. They're brothers. If you can't talk to your own fucking brother, who can you talk to? And maybe that's really where they've gone wrong with each other over the years.

Not fucking talking.

And while Sammy may only be young, he's far from being an idiot; he's been through and seen so much more crap than any child, adult, human being, should ever have been put through or seen.

Sam is the one who keeps Dean fighting through every day without wanting to nosedive off a cliff.

His kid is all the strength Dean needs to keep going.

But neither one of them is whole anymore.

Nightmares scream through their minds on almost a nightly basis.

And whatever this ongoing nightmare is about its having a much deeper impact on his kid than Dean likes.

It’s scaring the shit out of his baby brother.

And Dean can’t gank its ass dead for it.

Running his free hand over his hair, he sighs and looks down at his sleeping kid as he feels Sammy shifting. There’s a very familiar grimace twisting Sammy’s face and Dean has already grabbed the trashcan before Sammy lurches awake and upright, the kid’s body heaving as he throws up his brunch; the soup and crackers from earlier.

“Alright, buddy,” Dean murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over the kid’s back while Cas joins them, drawing Sammy’s hair into a hand to hold it out of the way.

Feeling the force of Sammy’s dry heaves in the muscles beneath Dean’s hand on Sam’s back makes his heart hurt for his little boy. And his anger soar at Rowena. The fucking witch is getting ganked when Dean catches up to her. But he doesn’t allow his anger to surface because Sammy will feel it and think it aimed at him.

It’s a good thirty seconds after Sammy’s dry heaves stop before Dean queries if they’re done. Sammy’s answer is to slump back against Dean, exhausted. Reaching over to the nightstand, Dean picks up the bottle of water and sets it between his thighs so he can twist off the cap one handed. Setting the bottle to Sammy’s lips, he gently tips it up so it trickles into the kid’s mouth.

“Rinse and spit, Sammy.” The kid does as asked, spitting the water into the trashcan, and they repeat the process twice more before Sammy swallows the fourth round.

“I’ll empty the can,” Cas states quietly, grasping hold of it and Dean releases his grip so the other man can take it into the bathroom to empty and rinse.

“Go on back to sleep, Sammy, okay,” Dean says, brushing back Sammy’s damp hair. “I’m just gonna get you into some dry clothes. You’ve sweated right through these ones.”

“Mmm,” Sammy hums, already mostly into sleep.

Which is fine by Dean right now; it allows him to change both Sammy and the bed mats beneath the kid now absorbing urine. And it shows just how fucking awful the kid feels because Sammy hasn’t even noticed he’s wet himself. The kid would be embarrassed, despite being so sick and out of it.

“I’ll grab some fresh clothing,” Cas says setting the trashcan down in front of the nightstand and smelling the obvious sign of an accident.

“Check if his sweats and long-sleeve tee are dry first,” Dean instructs. He had had to wash out Sammy’s clothes in the bath earlier, the kid sweating through them so much. “There’s sweats and a tee in my bag if not.”

Cas nods, going back into the bathroom to check the drying rack on the wall behind the door while Dean slides Sammy over to the side of the bed where the bed mats are dryer. They’ll be changing all four so it doesn’t matter if the urine soaks through from Sammy’s briefs. Cas returns without Sam’s clothing and goes to Dean’s duffle, withdrawing the suggested clothing.

Between them, they get Sammy stripped and wiped down with the baby wipes before Dean carries him over to his and Cas’s bed to dress him in the fresh clothing, while Cas strips Sammy’s bed of the bed mats and replaces them.

Sammy sleeps through it all.

 

**#SPN#**

 

It’s been a day and Sammy has so far managed to keep down the half-bowl of soup and the cracker he ate for dinner; the first food he’s accepted since throwing up yesterday. And now the kid is sleeping once again so Dean is the one who opts to run to the diner across the street to pick up his and Cas’ dinner order Dean earlier phoned in.

If only to get some fresh air into lungs that have been breathing in the stale air of sickness for who knows how long now.

He barely sets his ass down on a stool at the counter when his phone beeps with the notification of an incoming text message. Digging his phone out, he reads the screen with a deep frown of concern, wondering how his kid manages to do these things in the space of a fucking minute.

Dinner order forgotten, Dean hightails it back across the street to the motel. Cas stands in the squared-entrance of the bedroom when Dean throws the door open, arms crossed over his chest and worry creasing the man’s forehead. But there’s no sign of Sam as Dean had been expecting.

“Where is he?”

“In the bathroom,” Cas informs him sombrely. “He won’t let me in.”

“You get the knife off of him at least?” Dean questions as he pulls his gun out from his back waistband and drops it on his and Cas’ bed before heading towards the bathroom.

The silence behind him is answer enough and Dean refrains from cursing at his former-angel as he uses his finger to twist the lock in the bathroom door, then pushes it open.

He finds Sammy curled into the far corner between bathtub and wall, the kid holding the demon knife to his chest like a security blanket. A very sharp security blanket that is sitting far too close to the vulnerable skin of Sammy’s neck for Dean’s liking. And he takes a step forward, only to freeze when that blade flashes forward in a shaking hand.

It takes a fraction of a second for Dean’s eyes to rove over his brother’s neck and when no blood starts gushing out he’s allowed the quiet sigh of relief.

_Good. Point it at me, Sammy_ , he silently encourages as his kid stares up at him with eyes that are once again wide, glassy and bloodshot in the height of fever.  

“Yeah, you’re feeling pretty crappy again, aren’t you, kiddo,” Dean states softly, raising his hands before him with fingers splayed in a non-threatening manner to show his hands are weapon-free as he squats down a little way from Sam.

It’s all it takes for Sam to recognise that its Dean now occupying the bathroom with him, but the arm doesn’t drop and for the second time in just over a day, Dean is receiving a glare full of accusation.

“I know. I did it again. I’m a crappy big brother, Sammy, and wasn’t there when you woke up. But I’m here now, okay, Sammy. See –” Dean holds his arms out and gives a gentle smile, “- it’s just me, buddy. And this really doesn’t require the use of weapons, Sammy, does it?”

Sam’s expression softens and his bottom lip begins to tremble, the shaking of his hand becoming more pronounced and Dean is able to easily disarm him. He slides the knife backwards across the vinyl flooring without turning away from his brother, knowing Cas will snatch it up, for Dean would rather not have it within Sam’s furthering reach right now in case that confusion seeps back in.

And it becomes a little too reminiscent of Lucifer knocking around his baby brother’s head when the kid is this sick and weapons are being waved around. Dean would rather not roll out the welcoming mat to the memories of what that bastard did to his kid.

Sam blinks, then his face twists into that familiar grimace and Dean just manages to grab up the empty trashcan from beside the vanity and hold it beneath Sam’s mouth before the kid throws up the little he ate earlier. It lasts only moments before dry heaves are all that’s left. Then Sammy turns his head away and Dean knows he’s done. Standing, Dean disposes of the trashcan’s contents down the toilet before flushing and sticking the can in the sink for rinsing out once he’s done with Sammy.

Squatting down in front of his kid once again, he questions, “You feel up to coming out of there, Sammy?”

The kid stares, before he blinks again as he shifts, hands and knees hitting the floor and unsteadily starts to crawl across the space separating them.

Dean drops down onto his own knees and reaches out, already feeling the heat emitting from his kid’s body before he even gets his hands on Sam. And here they are again, standing on the edge of dangerous with this fever.

“Cas.”

He hears Cas step into the bathroom behind them only a fraction of a second later; Dean having known the other man hadn’t gone very far after retrieving the knife. Dean doesn’t even need to tell the former-angel to get the bath running this time, Cas is already on it, dropping and pressing the stopper in the drain and running the cold water.  

“All right, Sammy, what say we get you cooled down again, huh?”

And with minimalist shifting of his kid as not to unsettle Sammy’s stomach anymore, Dean manages to strip Sam out of his sweat-soaked clothing. He makes a quick mental note to check for laundromat services in town as they’re bound to need it before they get out of here with the rate Sammy has been going through not only his own clothes but Dean’s as well.

Lifting Sam up, Dean once again sets him in the bath and it shows just how shitty the kid is feeling as Sammy does little more than gasp as he’s lowered into the very shallow pool of slowly rising water. The water pressure in this place as shit as everything else.  

“How’d he get the knife?” Dean questions his partner as he sets about wetting Sammy down with the trusted washcloth.

“How’d he get his tablet?” Cas retorts.

Touché.

Dean had stashed away the tablet when it wasn’t in use as well as he had the weapons. And yet still his Sammy is getting hold of the damn things. But the tablet can’t accidently slice his kid open, only cause fucking eye strain.

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmurs. “I needed the bathroom. I guess I shouldn’t have had that last tea.”

Dean sighs, shakes his head, and gives a soft smile to Sammy as the kid holds his pacifier still attached to his finger up to Dean’s lips in offering. “Nah, I’m okay, Sammy, that’s yours. You keep it, buddy.”

Sam scrubs at his eyes, before catching the nipple of the pacifier between his lips. It pops back out again a second later and Sammy nearly pokes himself in the eye with it as he again rubs at his eyes. The pacifier returns to Sammy’s mouth and the kid whines a moment later when his finger doesn't detach from the ring, though it’s no wonder as the kid is trying to pull his finger the wrong way. Dean reaches out and easily detaches the finger from the ring and is rewarded with a sleepy Sammy smile from behind the pacifier, the kid wriggling his fingers through the cold water, before an enormous shiver passes through him.  

“The kid’s smart enough to circumvent whatever measures we put in place to keep him from things while he’s sick, Cas,” Dean tells his partner quietly as he stands to grab the bath-towel off the drying rack behind the door. “We just have to be more vigilant.”

“I’m not sure how much more vigilant we can be, Dean.”  

And there’s the rub.

For while Dean wants to keep things away from Sam that could cause harm while Sammy is not exactly with it enough to know better, Sam still finds ways to thwart the idea; still unknowingly displaying his stubbornness. And as much as Dean tries, he can’t watch the kid every second.

What he can do, however, is this, “You’re getting dinner, Cas. And anything else we need outside of this freaking room for the foreseeable future.”

Cas actually looks relieved as he stands up, before helping Dean get Sam up onto his feet in the tub. “I am agreeable to that.” 

“Good. ‘Cause it wasn’t a suggestion.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Seated on his bottom miles away from his target, Sam contemplates the best way to traverse the breadth of terrain laid out before him. He intends to reach his goal without injury and without awakening the sleeping giant that is the Great Mountain.

Lifting his hand to secure the Whistle of Summons better between his lips, the whistle ready to be blown to summon the avenging trolls if danger arises, Sam sets off on his long journey.

He silently ponders, hours later while he takes a breather and swipes a forearm across his sweaty brow as he stares up at the enormity of the Great Mountain, why the black screen off to the side is playing the theme tune to Mission Impossible.

Sam doesn’t even like Mission Impossible.

But he does have a mission of his own to complete. And lowering himself down onto his tummy Sam silently slides his way beneath the large bridge that juts out from the Great Mountain.

Though he isn’t sure if it’s a people bridge or a vroom-vroom bridge.

Maybe both?

But he is pretty sure he’s reached his goal. And stretching up his arm onto the Great Mountain, Sam snags the artefact he’s seeking and quietly pulls it down to join him before starting on his retreat. He is in the process of shimmying himself backwards when the bridge above him starts to move.

_Suspension bridge_ , flitters through his mind and he has to hurry to seek shelter. For any moment now the bridge will tumble down and Sam will not reach a far enough distance to be safely away before it does.

And he only just manages to make it into a hideaway when the bridge collapses down upon the floor with two great thuds, kicking up a puff of dust that makes Sam sneeze. He quickly covers his mouth and nose to prevent anymore sound escaping.    

“Sammy,” the Great Mountain speaks with a giant rumble.

Sam stares wide-eyed, artefact clutched to his chest when the head of the Great Mountain dims the light around him to only shadow as it rolls down over the mouth of his hideaway, green orbs of displeasure staring at him as a great hand invades his space.

“Tablet. Now.”

Sam allows the Whistle of Summons to slip from his mouth. For if he and the Great Mountain are to peacefully coexist with one another words of grave importance must first be imparted. “Nuh-uh. Mine.”

“Dean... what?”

Oh no! There is another mountain lying in wait behind him! How could he have not seen it? And it has hands upon him, pulling him away from his hideaway. Sam grabs hold of the sides of his hideaway but in doing so he releases the artefact and it is snatched away from him by the Great Mountain.

“No. Mine! Mine!” Sam cries moving to grab it back but his head collides with the top of his hideaway, tears immediately bursting from him as his hands fly up to his boo-boo and he calls for his big brother. “De-De!”  

#

Wincing at the bang of Sammy’s head colliding with the underside of the coffee table the kid is trying unsuccessfully to hide his giant frame, Dean throws the tablet onto the couch and swiftly lifts the table up and off his crying little boy. Dean picks up his kid and sets Sammy on his hip, bouncing him a little as he rubs Sam’s back.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Sammy. You’re okay,” Dean soothes while checking for blood and is relieved when he finds none.

Cas comes up behind Sammy with both a fresh pacifier and a wet washcloth. He manages to get Sammy to take the pacifier as well as move Sam’s hand away from the spot and place the cloth over it instead. Sam cries harder and tries to push Cas away and Dean has to grasp his kid’s hand in his own and bring it to his chest. Sam stares at him with wet eyes, his breath hitching around his pacifier with his next sob.

“Aww, baby, it’s gonna help, I promise.”

And as promised, minutes later Dean sits on the couch with a much calmer Sammy on his lap, his little boy too enthralled with watching _Finding Nemo_ on the tablet to notice Dean rubbing a small amount of ointment over the bump on the crown of Sam’s head that will develop into a spectacular bruise later. Sammy lets out a sudden gasp, his pacifier slipping from his mouth, and Dean pauses.

“Sammy, you okay?”  

“De,” Sammy tugs on Dean’s sleeve even though he already has Dean’s attention. “The daddy fishy lost his baby fishy,” the kid tells him softly before Sammy bites at his bottom lip and stares at Dean with those big eyes. “He gonna find him ‘gain, De, right?”

Dean has to quickly think if he knows anything about this movie when he hasn’t seen it in its entirety. He only has a vague recollection of the dad and son possibly finding each other. “Yeah, bud. They’ll find each other again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” And the movie better hold up to that promise because it’s a kid’s movie. And when do kid’s movies ever have a sad ending?

“Okay.”

Dean smiles lightly and returns to his job, squeezing the tube of ointment to give him a little more before once again separating Sammy’s hair and rubbing the cream in.

“Here, Little One, drink some of this please,” Cas requests as he sits on the returned coffee table and holds out the green sippy cup to Sam.

Sam leans forward and Dean goes with him. He’s pretty sure the kid’s got his mouth open and waiting because Sammy hasn’t made a move to accept the cup into his own hand. And Cas leaning forward, cupping Sammy’s chin gently and setting the cup to Sam’s mouth a moment later only proves that. He can feel Sammy swallowing his juice and that’s another reason to like the new sippy-cups; they don’t allow for Sammy to guzzle from it and make himself sick like the kid’s prone to do.

Done with his juice, Sammy leans back against Dean, who rests back against the couch cushions, setting the tube of ointment on the arm. A yawn splits Sam’s mouth wide and he turns into Dean’s chest, eyes still glued to the movie. Picking up the pacifier, Dean sets it to Sammy’s lips, the kid accepting it in and suckling.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Stifling a yawn, Dean slowly extracts himself from beneath his now much cooler and peacefully sleeping baby brother after going through the process of bathing him in a cool bath when Sam’s temperature spiked dangerously once again. After carefully settling Sammy back down onto the pillow, Dean brushes a hand over his kid’s hair, before pulling up the blanket to fully cover Sammy’s shoulders.

Stretching out his back, Dean enters the bathroom to relieve the pressure on his bladder. Drying his hands, he walks back through the bedroom and into the living room, wearily dropping down onto the couch as he stifles another yawn behind his hand. All the while silently praying that finally, _finally_ , Sammy’s fever has broken for the last time.

“What day is it?” Dean questions his partner as Cas pours hot water from the kettle into two mugs.

“Sunday,” Cas supplies.

God, Dean feels like they’ve been here for weeks already, when in reality it’s only been four days.

Four _long_ fucking days.

He scrubs his hands over his face, hearing the chink of ceramic meeting wood a moment before feeling the couch dip down beside him and fingers squeeze his shoulder.

“You should take some rest as well, Dean.” Dean drops his hands down from his face and slowly turns his head to look at his former-angel as the other man continues. “I will keep an eye on Sam.”

“You already know my answer to that, Cas,” Dean sighs. “I dunno why you keep bothering to bring it up.”

“I bother because I am concerned about _you_ , too, Dean. You have barely slept …”

“I’ve survived on less,” he interrupts the speech he knows is coming. “And I will again.”

“So stubborn,” Cas murmurs.

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “Pot calling the kettle black, Cas. You’ve been known to be just as stubborn as me,” he adds in case his partner doesn’t understand the idiom.  

Cas shakes his head, reaching forward to pick up one of the two mugs now sitting on the coffee table. A fresh sippy-cup also waits off to the side ready for when Sam wakes again. Cas holds out the mug to Dean, who takes it. “You should still sleep.”

“Case in point, Cas,” Dean rolls his eyes, leaning back into the couch cushions behind him and wishing Cas will just let the issue drop.

Because Dean will sleep when he’s ready to fucking sleep.

A moment later it seems like Dean’s wish has been granted because he hears his partner sigh, the other man leaning forward once more to pick up the other mug. The one that undoubtedly holds Cas’ Chinese breakfast tea rather than coffee. And which Dean might actually be inclined to drink - rather than this piss-poor watered down shit the shithole motel seems to think is coffee - if the smell of that tea wasn’t worse than the taste of this crap in his own mug.

“What was Sam’s temperature?” Cas questions while twisting himself around on the couch seat and drawing his legs up, tucking them into each other like a freaking Buddha statue.

_Don’t become a drugged out hippy_ , Dean silently appeals, remembering a future human Castiel that didn’t come to pass, and doesn’t want to either, because Dean won’t put up with it.

“Dean?”

“Huh? Oh.” Question. Temperature. “Hundred point four.”

“That’s an improvement on the last reading,” Cas says hopeful.

Dean nods, closing his eyes and rubbing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. He’s just about to take a sip of his coffee when he hears a cough from the bedroom, followed by a call of his name, his kid’s voice sounding even scratchier from all the vomiting he’s done.

“I’m coming, Sammy.” Dean hauls himself to his feet, swiping the sippy-cup up from the coffee table as he goes.

#

Sam groggily rubs at his eyes as he rises into the waking world, his stomach feeling much more settled than it had the last time he remembers waking. He calls for his brother, only his throat is so dry it produces a barely there whisper. Coughing, he tries again, pleased when sound actually leaves him this time, though his voice sounds wrecked.

“I’m coming, Sammy,” his brother responds.

A pulse of happiness floats through him, and Sam wriggles on the bed to find a more comfortable spot. His hand rolls over something harder than the mattress, and which moves under his hand. Frowning, he curls his fingers around whatever it is and pulls up slowly, experimentally, just in case it is a bedspring that has broken through the material, though it doesn’t feel like metal, rather more like plastic.

Withdrawing his hand from beneath his blankets and uncurling his fingers, Sam is more than surprised to find a pacifier sitting on his palm. He feels his cheeks heat and it has nothing to do with fever as he stares down at the pacifier, probably in a way that says it’s an alien life form from outer space.

Hearing his brother’s footsteps approaching, Sam’s fingers enclose the pacifier within his fist. _Mine_ , the thought wanders in, and Sam slips his hand into the pocket of his hoodie before he fully realises he’s doing so. He guiltily shifts his gaze away from the door, and instead his eyes fall upon the nearest front corner of the nightstand.   

Where _that_ thermometer sits.

Sam turns his half-lidded eyes to his brother as the man enters the bedroom. “Did you even try?” the question quietly slips out, admittedly accusingly, and damn, those weren’t the first coherent words he wanted to say to his brother.

“Tried each and every one of ‘em, actually.” Dean responds without heat as he seats himself on the edge of Sam’s bed and holds out an orange sippy-cup.

Sam feels the heat across his cheeks deepen, vaguely remembering the eagerness of drinking from a blue sippy-cup earlier after he had thrown up. And seriously, first the straw tumbler and now sippy-cups? Why did Dean even get sippy-cups? Sam’s been more than capable of drinking from proper cups for quite some time now.

Being thirsty, however, sees him taking the cup, but he unscrews the lid and holds it out to Dean. Dean takes it, probably sensing the argument Sam is willing to put up if he pushes the matter.

“They did what they always do and crapped out,” Dean explains while Sam takes a drink of cherry Gatorade.

“So it wasn’t the demon blood causing it,” Sam says dejectedly, lowering the cup to his lap. “And we still don’t know why my body reacts the way it does.”

“Maybe it is just as the docs said, Sammy,” Dean responds. “That your body’s electrical current just runs faster.”

“But _why_?”

Dean sighs. “We know better than anyone that life’s mysteries sometimes just don’t get answered, kiddo. Like the mystery of you being taller than your big brother. Because, I mean, dude. If you’re looking for something that isn’t normal, I’m pretty sure being a Sasquatch is it, kid.” Dean teases, his lips curving.

“Just because you’re jealous you got stuck with them ol’ bowlegs,” Sam snickers softly.

“I’ll have you know these ‘ol’ bowlegs’ are good for many things, thank you.”

“I don't wanna know what half those things are.”

Dean smirks. “No, you probably don't.”

“Ewww,” Sam pushes at his brother’s shoulder lightly, “gross, De.”

Dean chuckles, and pats him on the chest. “How ya feeling?”

“Better. Tired,” Sam says truthfully. There’s no point lying when his brother can see right through him. Speaking of which, he eyes Dean. The man has grey shadows beneath his eyes and at least four or five days’ worth of stubble going on. “How long have I been sick?”

“Four days.”

Damn. No wonder Dean looks so frigging tired. Sam knows all too well his brother would have barely rested for those four days. He rarely does until whatever ailment Sam’s inflicted with passes.

“You should get some sleep, Dean. You look like crap.”

“Yeah, back atcha’,” Dean snorts.

“I have been trying to get him to rest.” 

Sam’s gaze drifts to Cas leaning a shoulder against the wood of the entryway into the bedroom. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Little One,” Cas gives him a soft smile. “It is good to see you awake and coherent.”

Sam smiles sheepishly, feeling the light blush creep across his face again, and takes another drink to partially hide behind his cup. He knows from remembered experiences that he’s not the best patient. He tends to act like an idiot when fever is coupled with the medicine given to counteract the fever and well, just his general dislike of being ill. Plus he knows he’s clingy to his brother when he’s sick, as embarrassing as it is to admit. And he’s pretty sure this time wasn’t any different.

“Think you feel up to eating something?” Dean queries.

Sam nods slowly, lowering his cup back down. “Maybe some toast?”

“How many slices?” Cas questions.

“Um… I’ll just see how I get on with one for now.”

Cas nods, moving away. Sam lets Dean take his empty cup to set down on the crowded nightstand.

Sam yawns, before saying, “I gotta go potty.”

Pushing the covers back, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and plants his feet on the carpeted floor. He wobbles as he pushes up to standing and Dean’s immediately there, steadying him with strong hands.

“I’ll help you to the bathroom, alright? I don’t wanna be picking your face-planted butt up off the floor.”

Sam hides his smile behind his bowed head, his hair hanging lank in front of his face as he places one foot in front of the other. And that really shouldn’t be such an effort; he’s in good shape.

“You’re exhausted.” Sam shakes his head lightly to clear his face free of his hair so he can glance sideways at his brother. “Don’t give me that look. I ain’t no demonic sonuvabitch reading minds. I just know the way you think, kid.”    

Sam nods after a moment as they reach the doorway of the bathroom. “Right.”

“Think you can manage from here, kiddo?”

Sam nods again. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Alright. Shout if you need me.”

Sam nods and the door gives a soft click as it’s closed behind Dean a moment later.

He releases a sigh, digging his hand within his hoodie’s pocket to find the item held within.

#

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub a minute later, Sam’s lips curve slightly, sadly, as he stares down at the huge eyes staring back at him. And damn his big brother for doing that. For playing into Sam's love of puppies.

And he wants to be mad at his brother, real mad, for transfiguring his longing for a pacifier into a solid need; one that won't let him go. That door having been flung wide open again and Sam can’t get it shut any longer for love or money.

But Sam can’t bring himself to be mad at Dean for only trying to help him.

Because Sam doesn’t _want_ to close that door.

Not for this.

But he just doesn't have a choice.

He can’t have a pacifier again. 

He just _can’t_.

He's already nearly lost himself to a magical fever, and he doesn't remember a lot of it, but this… this he remembers. The texture, the feel of it, the comfort derived from this simple piece of silicone.

And as much as his mind says ‘hey, it’s okay, why shouldn’t you?’ it also tells him he’s way too old to be needing a pacifier. It takes him being a freak to a whole other level of extraordinary proportions.

And while he has come to terms with being a freak, he shouldn’t have to feel any more different than he already does.

He just needs to go out there and tell his big brother and Cas as such without allowing his need to get the better of him.

# 

Seated at the table, Dean hears the bathroom door open followed by the shuffle of his brother’s feet across the bedroom’s carpeting before the sound of Sammy’s voice also draws Cas’ attention.

“As much as you two seem to have it in your heads that I'm somehow younger than I actually am -”

Dean tenses, ready to jump in once again as Sam wobbles on his exit from the bedroom, but the kid does the sensible thing and drops down into the dining chair closest to the entryway. The reason Dean set Sam’s plate up there to begin with.

“- I’m not a baby,” Sam continues while placing the pacifier down beside Dean’s hand.

He had known it was coming, so Dean doesn’t understand the sudden loss he feels as he places his hand over the pacifier and picks it up, twiddling it in his fingers. It isn’t as if he’s the one that uses the thing. But he’ll accept it back if that’s what Sammy wants.

For now.

But he does need to set his kid straight on one thing.

“Sam,” he waits until he has his brother’s full attention. “This thing,” he gives the pacifier a little shake for emphasis, “has nothing to do with you being a baby. And everything to do with you suckling on something that carries far less bacteria than your thumb.”

“I know that, Dean,” Sam nods. “But a pacifier isn’t necessary …” he adds, giving a shrug of stiff shoulders, “… as I don’t suck my thumb all that much anymore.”

Dean’s eyebrows arch in surprise. He glances at Cas who seems to be as miffed as Dean, before his gaze automatically drifts back to Sam. Does the kid honestly not realise how much he sucks his thumb? The damn digit has barely left the kid’s mouth in the past few weeks since that spell.

How can Sam _not_ realise that?

_You’re talking about Sammy Winchester, Dean_ , he can almost see his inner-self rolling his eyes, _the kid does know, ya idjit_.

Dean narrows his eyes as he takes in Sammy’s posture and the eyes that are no longer looking at him, along with the flush across Sam’s nose and cheeks that has nothing to do with a fever. Or lack thereof at the moment.

_Oh yeah. Sam’s fully aware of it._

Kid’s just making a show of not registering his behaviour for the sake of giving back the damn pacifier.

Damn kid.

“Alright, Sammy,” Dean makes his own show of slipping the pacifier into his shirt pocket. “You let me know when you want it back.”

Sam’s eyes narrow slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I won’t.”

“Of course not,” Dean nods once. “And we don’t see you as young, Sam.” 

“Don’t patronise me, Dean.” Kids on the ball, can’t disagree with that. “You’ve both individually told me as such.” Sam picks up the blue sippy seated on the table in front of him and looks to Cas. “I’ll have my straw tumbler if that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Cas says, confusion still creasing his forehead as he stands, taking the cup from Sam who has already half-risen with the intention of changing it himself. Dean hides his smiles as Sam plops back down into his chair with a disgruntled huff, while Cas crosses to the kitchenette. “I have to admit I do not understand why we shouldn’t state you are young, Sam, when you _are_ young,” Cas adds, pouring the contents of the blue _sippy_ into the straw _sippy_.

Dean keeps that amusement from his face, too.

“Well, to you, Cas, I guess I am young. I mean how old are you exactly?”

Dean snorts, swallowing down his mouthful of cereal. “Don’t start him on the age thing, Sammy. Cas will bore your ears off for hours trying to explain how he may be this age or he might be that age.”

“Well you should try not knowing how many thousands of years old you are,” Cas grumbles setting the straw sippy in front of Sam.

“Dude, I’m thirty-six and we are leaving it at that.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sammy says shooting Dean his disapproving bitch-face as he takes some juice from the straw. “And I’d like to hear your story some time,” he adds as Cas retakes his seat opposite the kid.

“Not right now,” Dean points his spoon at his partner as Cas opens his mouth to spill the long and boring tale.

“Why not? Sam clearly wishes to listen. Unlike you who fell asleep halfway through.”

“‘Cause I don’t wanna fall asleep in my breakfast.”

Sam smiles fractionally.

Noting his kid has yet to touch his lightly buttered toast, Dean taps the plate’s edge with his spoon, indicating his expectance with both the move and the look he levels at his kid. Sammy needs to get his strength up, and eating will go a long way towards achieving that.

Sam sighs, but picks up the lone piece of toast and takes a small bite, rolling his eyes at Dean’s satisfied expression. “Are we headed to Vancouver?” Sam asks stifling a yawn the kid doesn’t think Dean notices. "We're already so many days behind Rowena's trail."

“ _You_ are headed nowhere but back to bed.”

“But Dean …”

“Sam,” Dean interjects firmly, immediately stilling his baby brother’s protest. “Kara’s on it,” he supplies.

“Kara?” Sam arch’s a surprised eyebrow. “Tom Jeffries wife Kara?”

“That’s the one.”

“I thought she was done with hunting.”

“She is. Mostly. She’s just doing us a favour while you’re sick.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“She checked in yesterday,” Cas explains. “At which time she had no sighting of Rowena.”

“She doesn’t think the bitch is there,” Dean tells his kid. “But the intel was definitely good.”

“Did we get any confirmation on the theory she’s running Crowley’s demons into hunters?”

“Oh yeah. Kara talked to that kid who told Cray about sighting Rowena up there. Says he exorcised a demon chasing after her.”

“Just like Mike,” Sam nods, scrubbing at an eye with the back of his knuckles.

Dean nods his own head. “And Joe Banbridge and Al Grey have checked out two more sightings for us close to their own hunts. Both busts for Rowena being there, but again the intel was good.”

Sammy shakes his head. “What’s her end game?” the kid says more to himself than Dean or Cas.

“Not sure she has one,” Dean supplies anyway. “She’s just running.”

“I guess we’ll just have to get her to stop then.” 

Dean smiles. “That’s my boy.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is slightly later than the two weeks I gave last chapter, but I've been busy working on chapter 13, so I figure y'all will forgive me that :)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos, and those who have bookmarked this story. You honestly do help me in continuing this story and my wish to make it as great as I possibly can for you all. I've said it many times, but you all ROCK! xoxo

After the emotionless bitch, Gretchen, refused them the room for another night at the motel, they packed their crap and got the hell out of there before Dean did something he’d regret. They found another motel on the other side of Redfern Grove; identical to the last, right down to the room layout, just built on the opposite side of the street to the other place.

One in, one out.

Dean snorts silently.

But at least the air in this room isn’t permeated with the scent of sickness like the last room. They have clean sheets and no Gretchen. And though with Sammy doing better Dean would have preferred to get them out of town, they still have a job to do here.

Because at some point – hopefully the next day – they need to go back out to the farmhouse Rowena was holed up in and go over the place with a fine tooth-comb; to ensure no more fucking magic traps have been left behind by the witch for some dumbass teenager to set off.

But for the moment Dean is staring at his partner as Cas finishes up washing three of everything supplied by the motel’s small kitchenette in preparation of their stay here; plates, forks, knives, spoons, bowls, mugs, glasses.

Even though Dean has told Cas the intention is to be here for only the one night; or at least he _tried_ telling the other man that. Cas didn’t listen. And left Dean wondering when his partner took a note out of Sammy’s OCD book. Although, admittedly, he can’t blame the ex-angel for his caution after experiencing Sammy so sick; actually respects his partner for taking that care.

“What?” Cas inquires, staring at him with a frown as Dean draws away from his thoughts and allows a smirk to filter onto his lips.

“I’m just looking.”

“Well try not to do so with such …” Cas glances over his shoulder towards the couch where Sam is staring off into space with half-lidded eyes and ever present thumb in his mouth, before turning back and leaning towards Dean, lowering his voice as he continues, “… bedroom eyes.”

Dean laughs lightly, lowering his own voice to just above a whisper. “Did you seriously just say ‘bedroom eyes’, Cas? What crap have you been watching without me on Sammy’s TV? And do I need to cut his _Netflix_ subscription?”

He knows Sammy has _Netflix_ set up for just the one user because Dean pays for the subscription; and as far as Dean is aware that user is open to everything on the site without specific controls set down on the account. Dean will have to change that when he gets time to sit down at the laptop and go into _Netflix_ to set up a Kid User for Sammy. He meant it when he said his innocent baby brother would no longer be watching sex splayed all over the TV, laptop or tablet. G and PG ratings are sounding good right about now. Even more so as he watches the pink-hue spread across Cas’ cheeks.

“I haven’t been watching anything on there, Dean.”

Dean snorts and grabs another beer out of the cooler and twists off the cap. He flicks it with his finger and it glides through the air until it smacks into the opposite wall and then hits the deck. Sipping at his beer, he feels Cas’ disapproving eyes upon him before he turns his head to stare into blue eyes, the other man standing with wet hands on his hips. Lowering his beer from his lips, Dean sticks his tongue in his cheek before he steps away from the work surface to pick up his discarded beer lid and dumps it in the trash.  

Cas looks approving and Dean refrains from rolling his eyes. “I’ll run across to the diner and pick us up some food,” Cas says, drying off his hands. "Sam, what would you like to eat?"                                             

Dean’s stomach grumbles at the mere mention of food. He digs out his wallet from his back pocket and opens it, withdrawing some bills and handing them over, while glancing at Sam who has yet to respond to Cas’ question.

“Sammy!” Sam jerks, blinking wide eyes at Dean who feels slightly guilty for having startled the kid. “Cas is going for food. What d’you want?”

Sam continues to stare at him, before breaking contact and going back to staring into space without offering any input as to his preference in food.

Dean sighs. “See if they have any healthy noodle dishes,” he tells Cas who nods and folds the cash in half, sliding it into a pocket. “Kid’s more likely to eat that. And grab some snacks from the store next to the diner. Healthy crap. You know, fruit and stuff.”

“What do you want?”

Dean shrugs, not really sure what his gut is hankering for. “Might as well grab me some noodles as well it they’ve got ‘em,” he requests, then adds an extra his stomach takes a fancy too as it flies through his brain. “And a burger. Fries. Onion rings. Oh, chicken wings …”

“Would you like me to purchase one of everything on the unhealthy side of the menu, Dean?” Cas interjects with exasperated inflection.

“What? I’m starving. Get me pie too.”

Cas smiles, slipping his arms into his jacket. “Any preference on filling?”

Dean gives his partner a look that explicitly tells him he’s an idiot. “Pie is pie, Cas.”

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

Cas smirks on his way out the door. Dean shakes his head, turning to face his baby brother with his mind churning as to how he can draw his kid out of the shell he’s placed himself inside.

After Sammy gave back his pacifier and the conversation that followed, Dean once again tried to get his kid to open up about the nightmare that has seen Sam experience six nosebleeds. But Sammy had deflected by asking the question Dean had been silently dreading.

His knowledge of how his brother would react hitting spot on; the kid blaming himself no matter how much the events that had played out at the farmhouse were in no way Sam’s fault.

Not even in touching the blood. 

They have all had to do things like that in discerning clues, and it was only a matter of time before one came back to bite them in the ass.

And no thanks to that skank of a whore it did.

Unfortunately the scabbed cut decorating Cas’ lower lip hadn’t helped their case in expressing Sam’s lack of fault and Sam had climbed into his shell, pained eyes shuttering as he softly apologised. The kid neither hearing nor acknowledging Dean and Cas’ attempts to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

But maybe Dean can draw the kid out without Cas in the room. Because Sammy’s never been a big talker around others outside of Dean - unless it involves sprouting off information about a hunt then he’s in his element - but the kid still holds a huge amount of shyness in him despite how much he has grown in that department since re-joining Dean in hunting. And while Cas isn’t a stranger, Sam is still shy around him to a certain degree.

_So what to do? What… to… do?_

What invades his mind a moment later probably has no basis in drawing out his kid right now, but it will fulfil the promise Dean made to himself back in Wyoming and has yet to get around to.

Nodding, he crosses into the bedroom and returns to the living area with small trashcan in hand. Depositing it on the block of wood that passes for a coffee table in this room, he walks to the fat and old fashioned television set and switches it on before squatting down in front of it to flick through the channels. Landing on a channel showing Thundercats and thanking syndication for reruns, he stands and moves to the couch.

He gives his kid’s closest leg a pat, gesturing him across the couch. Sammy surprisingly goes without the complaint Dean had been expecting. Considering Dean could park his ass on the free central cushion beside his kid. But Dean doesn’t say anything as he’s pretty sure the kid just isn’t willing to remove his thumb from his mouth to argue about it, and gives Sam the space he needs in his silence, but not in physical body as Dean takes the vacated seat.

He feels Sammy shift next to him as he grabs the trashcan off the coffee table and sets it on the floor between his booted feet instead; his kid’s movement actually bringing Sammy closer to big brother as Dean had been hoping. And sticking his fingers inside his shirts chest pocket, ignoring the pacifier still seated within, Dean withdraws their metal nail clippers.

“Give me your hand, kiddo.”

Sam slowly draws his gaze away from the TV and raises an eyebrow, but does as asked, resting his left hand atop Dean’s right knee. Quickly and with practised efficiency Dean snips off the end of each nail so they sit the same level as the tips of Sammy’s fingers. The nail cuttings mostly make it into the bin, and Dean just runs his boot over the carpet to disperse any that didn’t make it.

Cas can yell at him later if he notices.

He gestures for the other hand and Sam shakes his head. “Sammy, you’re not having one hand full of cut fingernails and not the other, so take your thumb out. I’ll be quick, buddy.”

Sam stares at him for a long moment, before he slowly pulls his thumb out and wipes the spit off on Dean’s jeans. _Real nice, Sammy_. But Dean’s aware it’s a not so subtle punishment for making his kid withdraw his thumb.

And just as he said he would be, he’s as quick and efficient with this hand as he was with the other and the thumb returns to being between Sammy’s lips before Dean even fully releases his hold. Sam’s fingers clamp down on two of Dean’s, the kid resting back on Dean’s shoulder and curling his legs up in the free space of couch remaining, whilst his body pushes Dean against the couch cushion.

“Sammy, the way you got my fingers isn’t exactly comfortable,” Dean tells him, his elbow straining against the angle he’s having to hold his arm. “Let ‘em go a sec so I can shift my arm.”

Sam’s fingers slowly release Dean’s, the kid tilting his head back to stare at Dean and ensure he gets them back. Dean hides his smile, wrapping his arm around the back of Sammy’s shoulders and slips his forefinger and middle finger back onto Sam’s open palm, his kid trapping them within his own again.  

He gives it ten minutes - Cas still not having returned from the diner - before he interrupts the quiet by setting the back of his free hand against Sammy’s forehead. The kid tilts his face up to look at him with hopeful eyes.

“Sorry, kiddo, you still feel warm.”

Sam pushes himself up off of Dean, releasing his hold on Dean’s fingers, and slouches in the opposite corner. He finally pulls his thumb out of his mouth so he can cross his arms over his chest and use his words. “You’re not doing it.”

Those aren’t exactly the words Dean wants to hear, but neither is he surprised by them. And Sammy’s currently out of his self-built shell, so there’s that. “Sammy, we talked about this.”

“Oh, you mean when we discussed it in the middle of a freaking store?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t recall it one little bit,” Sam responds, shooting to his feet and moving to walk away.

Dean is quicker and catches hold of the back of Sam’s sweatpants, bunching them up and getting a good grip so they won’t tear. And it would be funny watching Sammy practically jogging on the spot in trying to get away from him, if his kid WASN’T trying to get away from him.

Sam stops, huffs and looks over his shoulder and down at Dean. “Why do you have to be so annoying?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Big brother prerogative. Haven’t I shown you that passage in the handbook yet? Oh wait, it’s only visible to big brother eyes.”

“You not funny, you know,” the kid grumbles.

“Little dude, I’m hilarious.”

Sam snorts. “Are not.”

His kid sighs and pushes himself backwards. Dean has to swiftly release the hold he has on the back of his kid’s pants to save his hand being squashed beneath Sammy’s butt as the kid plops himself down on Dean’s knee. While being surprised Sam had planted himself as close to Dean as he could get rather than trying to move further away right now, Dean still instinctively winds his arms around Sammy’s waist as the kid wobbles fractionally.

“You remember what you said back at the store, Sammy?”

Sam huffs, “I told you I don’t like it.”

“No. Before that.”

Sam’s eyebrows shift downwards before he sighs, his forehead relaxing. Yet, still his mouth remains closed, clearly unwilling to voice what they both remember. But Dean needs the kid to do so. They need to get passed this. Passed Sammy’s embarrassment at this, because the kid hasn’t known anything different his whole life. Hell, he really doesn’t have anything to be embarrassed about. They’re family. And this is just what you do.

It’s what _Dean_ does.

“Sam.”

“I said I wouldn't make a fuss,” Sam finally responds quietly at Dean’s push.

Actually, the kid had said he wouldn’t ‘kick up a stink’ but Dean lets the wording go. There’s no need to argue that point as Sammy just basically said the same thing. “Then are you about ready to get this over with? Without any more fussing.” Sam huffs another sigh, moving to put his thumb in his mouth. “No,” Dean stops him, “I want you to talk to me right now.”

“What’s to talk about?” Sammy pouts. “I don’t want you putting that stupid ‘mometer in my bottom, but you’re gonna do it anyways no matter what I say.”

“You’re right,” Dean admits, causing Sam to stare at him in surprise. Because as much as he would like his baby brother’s cooperation he will do what’s necessary for his kid’s continuing health. Even if that means he has to face a crying little boy. “Having your temperature taken has never been your decision,” he continues. “It’s always been mine. Because if I left it up to you it would never happen.”

It’s harsh, but unfortunately true. And it makes Dean feel like a complete asshole for saying it as he looks into wounded hazel eyes; while the fingers that have been playing with a button on his shirt - a nervous energy his kid expels on occasion - still and draw away.

“That’s not fair, Dean.”

“I know, buddy. But I can’t afford to be fair when it comes to your health. And while you shoved me away once, and I let you, that won’t be happening this time. It’s just a question of whether you’re going to give me a little cooperation, or if I have to continue to be the bad guy.” Dean pauses to let that sink in. “So what’s it gonna be, Sammy?” A thumb ascends to Sam’s lips once again, and once again Dean pulls it away. “Sam?”

“The former,” Sam finally responds, bottom lip jutting out.

“That’s good, Sammy,” Dean gives him a pat on the back. “Do you want to lay down on your bed or go over my lap?”

Sammy’s eyes widen. “Uh, you wanna do it _right_ now?”

“Yeah, kiddo, you’re due a temp check.” Dean looks down at his watch as he stands his kid up before standing himself. “Scratch that, your overdue one.”

Leading the way into the bedroom he can hear Sammy begrudgingly following on account of the sock-clad feet dragging against the carpeted floor behind him. But at least the kid is moving of his own accord.

“Lay down,” Dean instructs as he sits himself on the edge of his and Cas’ bed next to the nightstand so he can ready the thermometer that has seen multiple use in the past few days.

Slotting a fresh probe cover onto the thin end of the thermometer, he raises his eyes to his brother still just standing at the end of his bed; that thumb back between his lips and eyes glued upon the instrument in Dean’s hand.

“Sammy?” Sam blinks and shifts his eyes to Dean, who nods to the kid’s bed. “Lay down, kiddo.”

Sam shakes his head and spins on his heels. Unfortunately the movement is too quick for him and before Dean can get there to stop it, the air is whooshing out of his kid along with a grunt of pain as his body impacts the floor with a hard thud.

Dean has already dropped the thermometer and is rushing forwards, squatting down by his baby brother’s side. One hand goes to his kid’s back, the other on his shoulder, trying to help the kid turn over to relieve the jarring to his chest. But Sam shakes his shoulders, dislodging Dean’s hand, and kicks his feet against the floor as he pushes at Dean with one hand, the other hand shooting back and splaying across his bottom.

“Go ‘way! Go ‘way!” the kid cries with his hoarse voice from the fever that is still potentially running mildly through his system.

“Alright,” Dean says, lifting his hands away and scooting back on his feet before parking his ass on the floor. “Alright, buddy.” Leaning back against the foot of his own bed with his arms resting atop his raised knees, Dean really should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Don’t think this qualifies as not making a fuss, Sammy,” he grumbles only to get a kick in the shin by a big foot. “Hey, no kicking, Sam,” he scolds mildly, but firmly. “Or this tantrum is gonna see you getting your bottom spanked.”

“Not tantrum!” Sammy exclaims, kicking his feet against the floor to _clearly_ show the truthfulness behind his words. “You havin’ tantrum you-you-you big meanie!”  

Dean shakes his head, having to bite his lip to keep his amusement at bay.

#

Dean withholds a tired sigh as he stares at his baby brother over the top of the tablet in his grasp, the amusement of a few minutes ago now spent. Sammy’s tantrum has dwindled off into sniffles but he’s still refusing to allow Dean to touch him because apparently Dean’s still a …

“Big meanie!!” Sammy stresses for what feels like the umpteenth time now and through an even hoarser voice thanks to his tears.

… What he said.

And it once again looks like Dean’s going to have to be the bad guy here.

“You about done with this, Sammy? Because Cas is going to be back soon and if you don’t want him seeing your bare bottom …” Dean throws the tablet over his shoulder onto the bed as Sammy shifts his gaze around to stare at him mournfully; the pout and puppy eyes in full force amidst flushed skin.

Which hopefully is only due to Sammy’s tantrum and not the fever rearing its ugly head again.

Then a slight tilt of Sammy’s head – up and down - and Dean breaths a silent sigh of relief.

Pushing himself upwards, he crosses the short distance, grasps Sam under the arms and hauls him up into his arms.

“Mad at me?” Sam mumbles against his ear.

“No, bud. I’m not mad,” Dean responds, rubbing a hand over his kid’s back as he carries him over to the bed where he sets Sammy down on the edge, before ensuring he has Sam’s full attention. “I’m not happy you threw a tantrum though.” Sammy ducks his head with a sniffle, and Dean grasps his chin gently to lift his face back up. “You wanna tell me why that might be, Sammy?”

“‘Cause, um, throwing a tantrum is in and of itself a form of manipulation,” Dean’s smart boy informs him quietly while gripping hold of Dean’s shirt sleeve. “And that’s really naughty,” Sammy continues, staring at Dean through moist eyelashes, “‘cause-‘cause it might force you to do what I wants to do instead of you doing what’s in my best interest.”

“That’s right. Good job, bud,” Dean praises, using his thumbs to swipe over Sammy’s cheeks where the tears have fallen. “Under normal circumstances -” that don’t involve your big brother placing a thermometer up your butt no matter what you say “- what should you do instead of throwing a tantrum?”

“Talk to you,” Sammy responds immediately without hesitation. “Or to Cas.” 

“Good boy.” Dean gives a soft smile, and pats Sammy’s knees. “Alright, stay here for me, bud, while I grab you a drink to soothe your throat.” Sam nods, releasing his hold on Dean’s shirt, and Dean crosses through to the kitchenette.

Grabbing a cup and a bottle of water, he twists off the cap and pours the water into the cup before screwing on the lid. He ditches the empty bottle into the trash on his way back to his brother. Squatting down before his kid, Dean holds the cup up to Sammy’s mouth and Sam doesn’t hesitate in attaching his lips around the soft spout and starts suckling the water down.

Sam’s hands rise up to take hold of the handles of the cup and Dean lets go but remains ready to assist if Sammy gets tired of holding it. Eventually Sammy pulls the cup away and takes a breath as he holds the cup out to Dean, who takes note of the emptiness as he sets it on the nightstand.

_Kid must have been thirstier than I thought._   

“You hurting anywhere, Sammy?”

“My chest feels owie,” Sammy tells him with another sniffle, swiping at his runny nose with the back of his hand.

Thanks to a hell of a lot of practice Dean manages to keep his frown from his face at hearing Sammy referring to his pain as an ‘owie’. It has certainly been a while since that term came out of his brother’s mouth, but just as with Sammy calling the toilet a potty, Dean keeps his mouth shut. He’ll think on it later when Sammy isn’t distressed over needing his temperature taken.

“I bet it does, bud,” Dean says grabbing out a tissue from the packet on the nightstand. “You did a spectacular dive.” Placing the tissue to Sammy’s nose, he instructs his kid to blow and Dean dumps the tissue in the trash a moment later before grabbing a baby wipe and cleaning Sammy’s face. “Lean back.”

Sammy flops down onto his back, bouncing slightly as the mattress levels itself out again and scrubs at his eyes with his knuckles, before slipping a thumb in his mouth.

Dean feels the plastic of the pacifier sitting next to the nail clippers in his shirt pocket dig into his chest slightly as he leans over to pull Sammy’s tee up to his shoulders so he can assess for any damage. And while Sam just took the sippy-cup, Dean knows Sammy won’t accept the pacifier after so bluntly giving it back to Dean, so he doesn’t even try and offer.

But he’s pretty sure they both know sooner or later Sammy will have to fully accept the pacifier. Dean will only put up with that thumb being in the kid’s mouth for so long, especially after this fever; mystical-based or not.  

There’s a red patch on Sammy’s chest in the area of his sternum but it doesn’t look as if it will develop into a bruise and he tells his baby brother as such. After giving the ribs a once over and deeming them intact, he straightens the tee back into place.

“Just knocked the wind outta yourself, Sammy.” He gently rubs his hand over the area, watching Sammy’s face for any sign of pain. “Anymore owie’s?” he questions.

Sammy holds up the hand not situated near his mouth, revealing the slight carpet burn on the heel of the palm from where it slid across the ground in his fall. Dean leans down and does something he hasn’t done in years by placing a kiss upon it.

“Feel a little better?”  

Sammy nods shyly, lips curved upwards slightly around his thumb.

Dean smiles. “That’s good, Sammy.”

Sammy continues to stare up at him and slowly slips the thumb from between his lips. “I don’t want ‘mometer in my bottom ‘gain, De,” he whispers.

“I know, baby,” Dean says taking a seat on the bed beside him and brushing back his kid’s hair. “And I wish it were different, Sammy, I really do. But I can’t change how your body works.” He pauses. “So what say we get this done, huh?” Sammy slowly nods but doesn’t move. “Gonna turn over for me, bud?”

Sammy shakes his head. “Want you.”

Dean nods, knowing Sammy needs the knowledge of assurance in the safety and closeness that comes from being across Dean’s lap for this. That no harm is coming to him when his big brother has him secure.

Standing, Dean pulls Sammy up to standing before retaking his seat on the bed, ensuring he’s far enough back for Sam to be comfortable. “Pants down.”

Sammy pushes at his sweats one handed, the other hand having returned to his mouth. Dean reaches out and makes swift work of pulling both his kid’s sweats and briefs down to mid-thigh before raising eyes back up to Sam. The kid scrubs at an eye with his free hand, that black bruising present beneath both eyes now once again more prominent than they have been these past weeks since implementing Sammy’s bedtime. 

Seeing Sammy isn’t about to put himself over Dean’s lap, Dean reaches out and guides Sam over, making sure the kid’s long legs and body are both supported by the mattress.  

“Ready, bud?” he questions, rubbing a hand soothingly over Sammy’s back.

Sam looks back at him with pink cheeks and puppy eyes in full swing. If the thumb wasn’t between those lips, Dean knows the pout would be present again also. Dean swears the kid came out of the womb with that look already perfected, and he has to still himself against it as he has done on too many occasions before. Especially when he’s having to do something that is for his kid’s own good; a saying Dean absolutely hates, but understood a long time ago holds so much relevance where kids are concerned.

Dean rubs his back, “I know, baby. Just one minute, okay, that’s all it is, and then it’s done.”

Sammy continues his look, before he slowly nods, mumbling around his thumb and which Dean clearly translates as, “’kay, De.”

“Atta boy, Sammy,” Dean responds, proud of his kid for his acceptance.

Parting Sammy’s cheeks with forefinger and thumb, Dean places the end of the lubricated probe cover to his little boy’s anus. Sammy immediately tenses. “I know it’s difficult, Sammy, but don’t tense your bum, okay,” Dean gives a gentle pat to a cheek. “That’s it, good job, kiddo,” Dean praises as Sammy slowly relaxes, allowing Dean to slide the thermometer in the half inch required, before releasing the cheeks to close around it.

Holding the thermometer in place, he rubs circles over his kid’s back. He glances at his watch, the minute countdown only having passed the fifteen second mark when the jingle of a key in the motel door announces Cas’ return. Sam whimpers and wriggles. Dean has to press his hand more firmly against his kid’s back to still him.

“No moving, Sammy, or you’ll dislodge it, okay. And I know you don’t want to start over, kiddo.”

Sam stills his wriggling instantly, but his hand goes back to try and cover his exposed bottom. Dean swiftly intercepts it before Sammy knocks the thermometer sticking out between his butt cheeks and unintentionally does damage to his rectum. Grasping hold of the corner of his own button down shirt, Dean uses it to cover Sam’s behind instead.

But Cas doesn’t venture into the bedroom or poke his head in; perhaps sensing Sammy’s distress at being exposed and Dean instead hears him whistling in the outer room.

“He’s not coming in, kiddo,” Dean says quietly. Sammy nods. Then the beeping starts. Parting the cheeks once more, Dean eases the thermometer out and takes in the reading, relief spreading through him as he sees the lowest reading the instrument has relayed in the past four days. “98.7. Looks like your almost there, buddy.”

Almost, because Sammy’s regular body temperature fluctuates between 97.3 and 97.7.

Underneath the hand once again resting on Sammy’s back, Dean can feel the immediate release of tension draining from Sam’s body. The kid knowing this is the last temp check unless the fever has other ideas. But Dean is just as relieved; he doesn’t want to put Sammy through that again.

Righting Sammy’s clothing, he stands the kid up, who immediately moves in the direction of the bedroom opening and Dean knows Sam’s intention is to head back to the couch and sink back into his silent shell.

Dean stops him. “Table. Cas has dinner.” Sam shakes his head, hair flopping around his face. “You’re not going without dinner, Sammy. You need to eat something. And if you don’t want what Cas’ brought, I’ll heat you up some soup.”

The skin around Sam’s eyes crinkles slightly as he makes a disgusted face. Dean feels for him, because he too knows what it’s like to get fed up of soup after being sick. You just want to start in on proper food again. But clearly Sammy doesn’t want to do either right now.

“Just give it a try, okay,” Dean suggests while giving Sam a slight nudge in the back towards the main room. Waiting until the kid takes that step out there, Dean shakes his head and crosses into the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Come wash your hands please, Little One,” Cas requests before Sam can drop down into the chair opposite the window.

Huffing around his thumb, Sam trudges over to the kitchen basin and turns on the faucet, rolling his eyes as Cas quickly sticks his hand underneath the water before Sam can. Cas gives a nod, drying his hand off on a dish towel and Sam sets about washing his hands. The second he has them dried Cas holds out the knives and forks to him. Sam gets the hint and takes the cutlery to set the table.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Sam grunts back at him. Then glares at his passing brother as he feels a pat to his butt. Dean raises an eyebrow at him in warning.

“Did you cook the food while you were there?” Dean teases, arm resting at Cas’ lower back as he leans around the other man to smell the aromas coming from the array of dishes, his stomach grumbling loudly.

“Do I or do I not recall someone asking for around ten dishes for his bottomless pit of a stomach?” Cas returns, pointing the sharp end of a serrated kitchen knife at Dean while shooting him a disgruntled glare.

Dean holds up his hands with a chuckle. “I’m a growing boy, Cas,” he responds before deciding on retreat, but not before grabbing up a white cloth napkin.  

“They thought I was feeding an army,” Cas tells them, using the knife to slice up a fresh loaf of bread. “They didn’t believe me when I said it was only for three people.”

Dean snorts, setting the cloth napkin over Sammy’s front, his kid now seated at the table in the chair opposite the window. Sam tilts his head back to look up at him, his expression easily reading, ‘what are you doing?’, and Dean returns it with his own, ‘you knew this was coming, kid’.

The kid rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t fight the fraction of pressure Dean applies to the back of his head to tilt it downwards. Dean quickly knots two of the napkin’s corners at the back of Sammy’s neck without catching his hair in it and pats Sam’s right shoulder to indicate he’s done.

Sam tugs at the napkin unhappily and Dean’s pleased to see the thing doesn’t budge. _Huh, might have to steal that one or several_ , he muses as he takes note of the other two sitting ready on the kitchenette’s work surface for his and Cas’ use; though naturally not as a bib.

Sammy turns his gaze up to him once more, while his free hand goes to the knot at the back, fingers trying to work it loose.

“Yeah, that’s not coming off until I undo it, Sammy.”

The kid slips his thumb out long enough to tell Dean “you’re still a big meanie,” before it gets put back.

Dean leans down to Sam’s level. “You caught me, kiddo. I’ve been perfecting how to be a big meanie for so many years now,” Dean smirks as he watches the corners of Sammy’s mouth fight not to rise and stands straight, ruffling his little boy’s hair before moving off to help Cas get the food to the table.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Rinsing off the last of their dinner dishes under the motel’s kitchenette faucet, Dean passes it over to Cas to dry. Switching off the faucet, he glances over his shoulder into the bedroom where Sammy’s curled up on his bed.

Dinner had been quiet. Sammy only eating half of his noodle salad with tuna before quietly announcing he was done and pushing his plate towards Dean’s remaining plate of beef stew with mushrooms and egg noodles, while Cas continued to slowly tuck into a peanut-noodle salad that in no way appealed to Dean. Dean had easily approved of what his kid had eaten, it having been a slightly larger portion than Sam usually consumes when he’s feeling less than one hundred percent.

And the kid allowed Dean to untie the dirty napkin without hassle, but scrunched his face up and tried to push Dean away when the baby wipe was run over his messy face. Some Sammy stroppiness shining through and something Dean was more than happy to see reappear. It hadn’t lasted, however, which brings them back to the here and now with Sammy hiding away on his bed.

His kid is bleeding frustration at the missed opportunity of catching Rowena, the misplaced guilt at his own perceived actions towards Dean and Cas, and for those perceived actions leading him to falling ill and wasting four days if he knows his Sammy. And when those types of emotions take hold of Sam, he goes quieter than usual. Or where the former is concerned, more often than not of late, frustration has seen his kid throwing a tantrum.

But tonight the equal amount of guilt has sent his little boy into almost silence.  

And while Sammy doesn’t snap out of a funk like that easily, the kid has grown accustomed to letting it rest and carrying on with whatever needs doing at any given time. Something Dean has grown used to seeing in his brother; having unfortunately been a catalyst for the behaviour. Seen as it’s what Dean does; bury it down and get on with it.

But tonight something is different.

It’s as if Sammy hasn’t even started the journey into that uphill struggle. And it _is_ a battle in getting there; no matter how silently or swiftly you reach the point where you can force a smile out and laugh once more and don’t feel as if the weight of the world is trying to forcefully shove you back down into the earth feet first.

But at least they are fortunate that Sammy is the complete opposite within those emotions than Dean. Because where Dean will do his best to make sure everyone leaves him the hell alone, Sammy will actively seek out Dean’s company. Even if the kid is silent within that company and doing his best to hide himself away in plain sight. And it is only when utter and all-encompassing sadness and misery takes hold that Sam bolts.

Something Dean has had to learn the hard way on too many occasions.

So Dean certainly shouldn’t feel thankful that it is only frustration and guilt currently running through Sammy. He would rather Sam didn’t have to experience those at all, but it is an impossibility in their line of work, and especially with their pasts.

And at least the kid is visible to Dean.    

He sighs softly.

Grasping an end of the dishtowel in Cas’ hands, he dries his own, before leaning back against the edge of the work surface, eyes fixed on his brother. He knows the kid isn’t focused one little bit, because Sammy hasn’t turned a single page of his book in the past half an hour since they finished dinner. And the thumb lodged back between his kid’s lips has only left Sammy’s mouth for the length of time it took him to eat his dinner and empty his sippy-cup of juice.

Watching his kid for a while longer, a lightbulb of realisation flashes so brightly in front of Dean’s eyes that had it been real it would probably have blinded him. And it would be his own fault. Because the situation before him is so blindingly obvious he couldn’t see it for shit.

Sammy hasn’t started his uphill journey yet because the kid can’t figure out _how_ to get on that train to begin with. Dean’s not even sure he wants the kid to get on it any longer. He doesn’t want Sammy masking his pain. He _wants_ Sam to talk to him; wants for his kid to share that pain so he can help his little boy through it and lay it to rest.

And for Dean to do that, he needs to get passed the teachings of his father, and of society, that have been drilled into his head for as long as he can remember, and stop being such a closed book to his kid.

For wanting his kid to share, Dean has to share too.

He has to talk. Care. Comfort. Love.

He has to _be_ there.

Just as he had when Sammy was little. When he had felt and been so much freer in his ability of expressing all of those things because he had a baby who needed him to be… everything.

And Dean never begrudged or resented being that person for his brother.

It was who he was then.

And it’s still who he is now.

He just hopes the idea now rattling around his brain will pay off.

Placing a kiss to Cas’ cheek, he uses the moment to whisper “go with me on this,” into his partner’s ear, before pulling away to look into those blue eyes that speak of Cas’ silent acknowledgement.

# 

Sam gives a suck on his thumb as he silently watches his brother enter the bedroom and cross to the bed sitting adjacent to the one Sam occupies. The old and green duffle belonging to his big brother practically his entire life is picked up from the floor and dumped on the bed. Dean pulls open the zipper before digging down inside.  

What looks to be a thin book is pulled out a moment later and Sam sees a flash of the front cover. He frowns as he thinks he recognises it. And his eyes widen fractionally when he realises where he’s seen it before and what it actually is.

_Dean bought a colouring book?_

Dean has never been a big colourer; he much preferred his army men and Lego’s before he became too ‘old’ to play with them and fully handed them down to Sam. Who would in turn get Dean to play with him and the army men and Lego’s. Not that Sam knew at the time that those moments when they played together was when Dean still got to be a kid. He just loved that his big brother took the time to play with him. And if Dean did sit down with Sam when it was ‘art’ time, it was to draw rather than colour. Because unlike Sam who can just barely draw trees, Dean can actually draw. His big brother would draw pictures, just the outlines, and would pass them to Sam to colour when they couldn’t afford a proper colouring book. Something Dean hasn’t done since Sam was a little kid.  

So unless Dean suddenly has a newfound passion for colouring - or maybe Cas has, though Sam really doubts that - then Dean has bought Sam a colouring book. Which isn’t actually as strange as it probably should be; seen as Dean is usually the one who finds the colouring books or single prints for Sam that are geared towards adults rather than children – and not filled in any way with flowers.

But that thing in Dean’s hands… that’s a bona-fide children’s colouring book.

The one… the one Sam was eyeing back at the store.

And the only way his brother could have known Sam had even looked at that specific colouring book is if Dean was watching him in the store. But Sam had thought he’d made sure Dean wasn’t anywhere near him before he’d run his fingers over the glossy dinosaur cover before walking away and leaving the book on the shelf.

And his wanting along with it.

Or so he thought.

Sam rubs his sweaty palm against his sweatpants, unsure how he should react when presented with this new item. He doesn’t want to accept the book in a display of childish need, yet he doesn’t want to reject it either. Because honestly, why should it matter that the thing is a kid’s colouring book?

It has never actually been the picture that relaxes Sam, but the simple act of brushing colour across a page and bringing a blank image to life in any way he pleases. And if the picture is too involved it can in fact send him off in the opposite direction. He prefers plain and simple when it comes to his normal colouring books; with no fuss and not too many tiny little spaces to fill with colour in an intricate pattern.

That annoys him.

And it isn’t the first time he’s thought about how a kid’s book would actually be more beneficial to him in relaxation than an adults. But there’s also the thought of having to admit that to his tough as nails big brother who thinks Sam long ago let go of wanting kid’s colouring books for the adult-oriented kind. A big brother who already has to put up with Sam wanting to colour in the first place.

But here Dean is, holding a book expressly designed for kids; the front cover splayed with colourful dinosaurs. And Sam’s admittedly confused. Which only increases when Dean, instead of approaching Sam with the book, moves around the side of his own bed. And without once glancing in Sam’s direction, lays himself down on his stomach upon the mattress.

#

Ignoring the quizzical eyes he can feel upon him, Dean sets the dinosaur colouring book down in front of him. Digging his hand back into his duffle, he withdraws the new pack of markers, setting them off to the side on the mattress, before picking up his duffle by the handles and dumping it over the side onto the floor.

Concentrating upon the book once again, Dean flicks open the front cover, the first black outlined picture that of a dinosaur with a frill-thing and three horns that remind Dean of a Rhinoceros.

“Awesome,” he enthuses loud enough to reach his kid’s ears while he decides to begin with the royal blue marker amidst the pile.

Picking it up and removing the cover, he sets the tip to the page and starts to colour the dinosaur he has no doubts Sammy can easily name if he climbs his way out of his self-induced shell and join Dean sometime soon, just as Dean’s hoping.

Glancing up a few minutes later, a corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up in a half smile when Cas joins them in the bedroom, his partner taking a seat in the thick wooden rocking chair in the corner and engaging Dean in conversation.

They talk quietly; about anything that steers them clear of the subject of Rowena or spells. No matter how much Dean is now itching to discuss their next move in the hunt. But he’s staved off for the past four days while Sammy’s been sick, so he can stay his need a few hours longer until Sammy’s in bed.

And in the morning he’ll fill his kid in when these emotions are not as strongly slamming through Sam.

#

Despite his confusion, Sam’s curiosity is definitely peeked at the sight of the markers Dean withdraws from his duffle. A colourful box housing markers Sam knows are _brand_ _new._ He knows because it’s been a while since his were replenished, having barely three that still work. And nor do they still reside within their original packaging because Sam long since trod on it and rendered it unusable.

And Sam can’t stop his curiosity growing stronger with each minute he watches his big brother colouring. A building itch to get a look inside the colouring book at whatever dinosaur Dean thinks of as ‘awesome’ and all the other amazing dinosaurs. And it’s taking every ounce of restraint he has not to bounce up and down on his bottom like an overexcited little boy.

Because the question still lingers whether Dean’s bought both a kid’s colouring book and new markers for himself… or for Sam? Because Sam definitely wouldn’t begrudge his big brother for once buying something for himself outside of the everyday essentials of food and clothing or hunting essentials of weapons and ammo. Dean deserves to treat himself; Sam just figured that treat would involve something more… adult-oriented.

But hey, maybe Dean has finally decided to venture into Sam’s relaxation method and give it a try.

Maybe they can colour together.

And that thought sends Sam spiralling downwards into a place where all he wants to do is colour, colour, colour with Dean by his side. Whether colouring or drawing or just having his presence there watching over Sam as he use to do when Sam was much smaller.

#

Dean surreptitiously glances at his watch to take in the time. It has been fifteen minutes since he set marker to paper, and only now is the first stirring of movement coming from the other bed.

Even though Cas has helped in providing stimulating conversation, Dean has been doing his best not to let his own frustrations seep in as he colours this damn picture painstakingly slowly. His goal being to engage Sammy in an activity without shoving the child book down his kid’s throat, while drawing him out of his shell at the same time. Not to colour anymore of Sammy’s book than necessary. This thing is for his kid to enjoy and Dean has had to prevent himself from finishing it and having to move onto another while he awaits the reaction he’s hoping for from Sammy.

And here it is. The movement from the other bed turning into sock-clad feet softly padding across carpet. Then he feels his own bed dip down on his left side as his kid seats himself on the mattress beside him, a knee brushing Dean’s side.

Dean turns his head to glance up at Sammy and is momentarily and inwardly startled by the child staring back at him; hazel eyes filled with shyness and curiosity and looking so much younger than he’s seen them in over two decades. Not even at the farmhouse or over the past few days when Sammy’s been clingy in his sickness has Dean been a witness to that much of the child he knows still lives within his baby brother.

Deciding it best not to bring attention to it in case it snaps Sammy out of it, Dean returns his attention back to the dinosaur he’s colouring, and his conversation with Cas.

Sammy shifts again only a minute later and Dean feels the weight settle on his back; the kid draping himself over Dean’s left shoulder. While one side of Sammy’s face comes to rest against the side of Dean’s; their stubble brushing together and the sound of Sammy suckling that ever-present thumb echoing in Dean’s ear. It’s a familiar position. Sammy has never been shy about draping himself all over Dean. Or getting as close to Dean as possible. Simply because Sammy’s done it since he was a baby.

Though not so much in the past decade or so.

A smile flitters across Dean's lips. Because it shouldn’t be long now. “What colour d’you reckon should be the spots, Cas?" Dean inquires with a wink as he holds up the book to show the dinosaur he's partially coloured.

“That dinosaur looks like it has the pox, Dean. Should it honestly look like that?” Cas replies, his voice playfully mystified but remaining straight faced.

And not for the first time does Dean wonder if all those times Cas has shown his clueless side were genuine or whether Cas just enjoys being that ignorant to get a reaction out of him and Sammy. The way Dean often does with Sam when it comes to research.

“That's the joy of colouring, Cas,” Dean responds. “Dinosaurs can look anyway they want. Or we want as the case may be. They don't have to be uniform to what the world expects. It's free expression. Ain't that right, Sammy?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sammy hums around his thumb.

“Ah, I think I understand,” Cas comments, glancing at Sam. “It's like cartoons. Colouring gives you the option to suspend reality for a time.”

Dean smiles, silently thanking his partner for trying to engage Sammy in the activity in his own way. “Exactly, Cas.” He glances beside him. “What colour do _you_ reckon these here 'pox' should be, Monkey?”

Dean blinks at the nickname. He hasn’t called Sam ‘monkey’ in years, and he’s expecting one of Sam’s bitch-face’s to alight upon the kid’s face, but Sammy doesn’t react. Which means Sammy either isn’t really paying attention, or he’s not bothered by it. And honestly Dean’s inclined to lean towards the latter because both he and Cas have been using epithets towards the kid for weeks now and Sammy hasn’t once brought it up. And if Sammy _did_ have an issue with it they surely would have heard about it by now. _Very_ loud and clear.    

"Yew’ow," the soft word is mumbled against his ear from around that thumb, drawing Dean back into the moment at hand. Sammy reaches out, tentatively plucking up the yellow marker and holding it out to Dean.

“Awesome colour. Thanks, Monkey,” Dean responds, taking the marker in his right and starting in on the spots.

Sammy shifts beside him again, and he feels the kid lie down on his stomach before a head is nudging at the back of Dean’s left arm, silently asking for access. Dean lifts his arm, Sammy immediately wriggling underneath it and Dean ruffles the kid’s hair before letting his arm just sit across Sammy’s shoulders. It isn’t exactly comfortable for Dean, but he really doesn’t give a shit. Everything – including his own comfort – can go fuck itself right now while he savours this moment with his baby brother.

Cas moves from the rocking chair and seats himself on the floor in front of Dean and Sam, half leaning on the end of the mattress and being careful not to topple the markers off the edge. Though he doesn’t look particularly pleased with having his person planted on the faded grey motel carpet.

Tilting his head to the side as he peers down at the picture, Cas questions, “What form of dinosaur is that?”

“Triceratops,” Sammy quietly, but clearly states after a moment. And Dean silently cheers the fact that the thumb has finally found its way out of his little boy’s mouth, and that he knew Sammy could name the Rhino look-alike. He watches the kid trace the newly coloured dinosaur’s outline with his finger. “They eat all their veggies,” Sammy points out, “unlike Dean.”  

Cas chuckles.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t born to be no herbivore, Sammy. That’s what we have _you_ for. You gobble up enough veggies for the both of us.”

“But maybe if you did, too, Dean, your tummy wouldn’t be so squidgy,” Sammy says, that light grin of childish mischievousness once again present as Dean splutters with indignation and Cas rolls backwards onto the floor in laughter.

“You cheeky little brat,” Dean finally manages to protest.

And being fully aware of the greater strength he’s retained after the spell, he proceeds to tickle his baby brother. Just like he used to do before life took a major toll on them and they stopped having these kind of moments.

Sammy lets out a loud giggle as he squirms beneath big brother’s expert tickle fingers. Dean hasn’t heard that happily pure Sammy sound in so long it almost brings him to a stop, tears prickling his eyes.

_Almost_.

He isn’t some girl getting all emotional over a little laughter.

Instead he grins and attacks Sammy’s sides, causing more of that happy sound to ignite from his brother as the kid squirms even more. Sammy managing to flip himself over onto his back only a moment later, which just gives Dean access to the kid’s now bare stomach, his tee having ridden up.

“Should I be required to intervene?” Cas comments with amusement, and Dean laughs at the absurdity of the question being sprung amongst a tickle-fest.

“Yes!” Sammy squeals. “Cas, help! The tickle monster’s att -,” he stops halfway through to let out another peal of giggles, before he’s able to finish his sentence, “- att-attacking me.”

“Oh dear. How do we rid ourselves of this fearsome tickle monster, Sam?” Cas asked, faux concern in his tone which goes unnoticed by the giggling kid.

“We hav-have to tick-tickle until go-goes POOF!” Sam manages to get out through squirming and laughing.

“Really?” Cas remarks as he stands up, contemplative eyes on Dean.

“Oh no,” Dean starts, lifting his hands from Sam to raise in front of himself in the universal sign of surrender, “don’t even think about it.”

Still giggling lightly, Sam pushes himself up onto his knees, grinning at Dean.

“Sam, I believe it is our duty to dispose of this dangerous tickle monster immediately,” Cas smirks at Dean.

And as if that is the permission he needs, Sam whoops and dives at Dean, knocking him backwards onto the mattress. Cas joins them on the bed and between them they have Dean laughing within seconds.

“Okay, okay, okay! I give! You win! This tickle monster’s all puffed out!” Dean yells out between his laughter several minutes later.

Sam sits back on his knees, grinning shyly, with a small sense of happiness written across his flushed cheeks. Cas follows suit, sitting just below his own pillow and chuckles softly as Dean drags himself up to lean against the headboard. He reaches out and pulls his baby brother forward to rest against his chest, all three of them taking a moment to bring their heavy breathing under control.

Sammy yawns only a moment later as he snuggles himself more against Dean, fingers latching onto Dean’s shirt and curling inwards.

“Hey, I know your tired, Sammy, but don’t drop off, okay,” Dean tells him, placing a kiss to the top of the chestnut head. “You need to have your shower.”

“Noooo,” Sammy whines, shaking his head against Dean’s front. “No shower. Don’t want it. Want cuddles.”

“I know, bud, but you’ll be in and out. And you’ll feel better for it. Cuddles will still be here.” And seen as they seem to have done that chick-flick thing more in the past few weeks than they have in over a decade, Dean’s pretty sure his brother will be incapable of letting it go. “C’mon, Monkey,” Dean jostles his kid a little as Sammy’s eyes droop. “I’m sure Cas can have some milk heated and ready for you when you get out.” Dean glances at Cas to ask if he’s agreeable to that suggestion.

Cas smiles, shifts and stands, brushing his hand down the back of Sam’s hair before leaning over and placing a kiss to Sam’s forehead. Drawing back slightly, he questions, “Would you like me to cut you up an apple or banana, too, Little One?”

Sammy stares up at Cas for a long moment, before slowly nodding and mumbling, “‘Nana, please.”

Knowing the agreement of the banana means agreement to the shower also, Dean dislodges himself from his kid and stands up on the bed, stepping over Sammy and dropping over the edge onto the floor. Sam stares up at him in surprise.

“No standing on the bed for you, Squirt,” Dean instructs with a soft grin.

“I’d hit my head anyway,” Sammy responds, rubbing an eye with his knuckles.

Dean stares up at the ceiling, placing a finger to his lips in contemplation and enjoys the giggle that comes from his kid again. “Nah, you’d have a good few inches of space,” he comments while effortlessly scooping Sammy up and situating him on his hip. “No good for jumping though.”

“You don’t think so?” Sammy says sleepily, looking over Dean’s shoulder as Dean carries him into the bathroom, and genuinely sounding intrigued by the idea. Kid used to love jumping on the beds when he was allowed to.  

Dean shakes his head with a chuckle. “Not unless you want to put your head through the ceiling.” He sets his kid down on his feet in the middle of the bathroom and adds, “Go potty if you need to, buddy,” with a soft pat to his kids rump to get him moving in that direction. 

“Wouldn’t be too pleasant, De,” Sammy shakes his head, stepping over to the toilet and lifting the lid. “Who knows what lives up there?”  

“Well it ain’t monsters that’s for sure,” Dean tells him, and makes no mention when Sammy pushes his sweats and briefs down his hips to his knees before turning around and taking a seat on the toilet.

Nor when the distinct odour of shit starts to permeate the bathroom. Which makes him wonder when that stink stopped bothering him, because Sammy’s farts alone can be toxic, but… wait, when did Sammy stop complaining about Dean _invading his privacy_ when he’s taking a dump? And sure Dean helped the kid when he was sick, but Sammy was pretty out of it. So what’s changed in the past couple days that Sam’s comfortable with it now he’s coherent?

Because he’s pretty sure it isn’t just because Sammy’s tired.  

Shaking his head, Dean will add it to his list of things to think about when _he’s_ less tired, and instead sets about getting the shower switched on and the temperature accurate. He glances over his shoulder briefly and has to do a quick twisting dive to prevent his kid from toppling straight off the toilet onto the floor. Sammy’s eyes snap back open the second Dean grabs hold of him and pushes him back upright.

“Wish this tiredness would piss off already.” Sammy mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Yeah, your fever hasn’t helped with that. Nor did pushing your body the way you did the other morning. No jogging for a while, okay. Unless something’s chasing you. Which it better not be.”

“If somethings chasing me, you’ll be chasing it, so I’ll be fine,” Sammy states matter-of-factly.

Dean has to swallow against a sudden dry throat at the trust and faith he sees shining in his baby brother’s eyes. The trust and faith Sammy still has in him even after everything they’ve been through; everything Dean has put the kid through these past two years alone.

Then Sammy reaches up and pokes him in the stomach with a finger. “Squidgy.”

Dean snorts, clears his throat. “Shut it.” Sammy quirks a small and tired smile up at him, and Dean ruffles the kid’s hair again with another clearing of his throat. “You done?” Sammy nods. Keeping one hand on his baby brother, Dean grabs some tissue with the other and hands it off, “Wipe your bottom.” Dean rolls his eyes a second later after Sammy barely runs the tissue up his butt crack before tossing it in the toilet. “You gonna do that properly?”   

Sammy sleepily pouts up at him, “I _did_.”

Dean sighs, grabs more tissue, unceremoniously tips his kid forward and wipes his butt clean, before tossing the tissue. “Just because your butts going in the shower doesn’t mean I’m washing poop off of it,” he says, standing Sammy up and leaning him against the edge of the work surface surrounding the sink before flushing the toilet.

“It’s not like you didn’t just wipe me clean,” Sammy grumbles, a slight pink tinge crossing his cheeks as he steps out of his sweats and briefs.        

Dean snorts, washing his hands under the shower spray. “It’s not like it’s the first time, Sammy.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean’s forehead drops onto Cas’ heaving shoulder, breathing heavily as he comes down from shooting his load, cock still buried deep in Cas’ ass. Dropping a kiss to Cas’ shoulder a minute later, Dean pulls out and lays a swat on his partner’s right ass cheek.

“Get washed up,” he instructs, stepping back to give Cas room in the small bathtub.

“Yes _sir_ ,” Cas shoots him a smirk over his shoulder and Dean groans, the bastard knowing exactly what he’s doing as he expresses the title in a way that shoots straight to Dean’s cock.

Unfortunately Dean is no longer a teenager, and while he has immense stamina, his dick no longer likes to function again that quickly.

Nor will it be an issue because there’s a thud from the other room, and Dean is out of the tub, snatching his gun off the sink vanity and far from caring that he’s butt naked wet as he races into the bedroom within seconds of hearing the noise. He knows Cas will remain in the bathroom as surprise backup if it becomes necessary.

However, Dean breathes a sigh of relief when no sign of threat presents itself and is instead faced with Sammy’s penchant for rolling his butt off the available edges of a mattress instead.

“Cas, stand down. Sammy's fallen outta bed.” He calls out. “Throw me a towel would ya?”

“Is he okay?” Cas queries as the towel hits Dean in the face a moment later.

“Looks it,” Dean responds, wrapping the towel around his waist securely while Sammy slowly rolls over and blinks up at him from the floor space between the bathroom wall and Sam’s bed.

“Hey, kiddo. You good?”

“I fall?” Sammy mumbles, scrubbing at an eye and scratching at his head.

“I’d go with spectacularly, yeah.” Dean leans down and hauls his kid up, situating him back on the mattress. “Gonna have to get you some safety rails if you keep falling out like this.”

“Only once,” Sammy grumbles at him as he situates himself more comfortably.

“Nope. This was the sixth time in the past few weeks,” Dean corrects as he rearranges the covers over the kid.

“Was not.

Dean refrains from rolling his eyes. “Did you have a bad dream?” Sam shakes his head and Dean sees the truth in his kid’s eyes. “Alright, go on back to sleep, Monkey.”

“Not gonna.” Sammy tells him, quickly snatching up the tablet from the nightstand while pushing off the covers Dean only just placed over him.

Dean takes back the tablet. “It’s bedtime, Sam. Not research time.”

Sam glares up at him and folds his arms mutinously over his chest. “Not sleepy no more. I can do research. I haven’t done any in days.”

Dean glances at the red numbers of the clock on the nightstand. His kid has been asleep for barely fifty minutes after falling asleep earlier in his half-eaten bowl of banana slices Cas had readied for Sam after his shower. It had been both amusing and adorable – not that he would ever admit to that - when he pulled Sammy out of his bowl with a banana slice stuck to his nose. Dean just wishes he’d taken a picture to add to his collection.

“What does your watch say, Sammy?”

An eyebrow arch’s on Sam’s brow in confusion at the question, but he looks down at his watch and recites, “Ten fifty-seven,” before looking back up at Dean. “Why?”

“And what time’s your bedtime?”

A bitch-face to beat all replaces the frown. “I don’t _have_ a bedtime!” Sam snaps. “ _I’m_ a big boy. And _you’re_ a meanie.”

_So we’re going with cranky._ _Good to know._ “Alright, seen as you’re such a big boy, Sammy, I’ll give you half an hour.”

Sam smiles up at him in victory and holds out his hands for the tablet. “Gimme.”

“No, Sam. You’re going to spend that half hour lying there doing nothing.”

“What, but you… THAT’S NOT FAIR!!” 

Sam’s yell brings Cas out of the bathroom, thankfully with clothes on and scrubbing a towel over his hair. “What happened?”

“De’s being mean,” Sammy is quick to pout at Cas before Dean can get a word in.

Dean shakes his head, because hell no is his kid going to do that, and levels _the_ look at his baby brother while telling Cas, “Sammy doesn’t want to go back to sleep and I told him he can have half an hour, but he doesn’t seem too pleased with the offer.”

“It _is_ past your bedtime, Little One,” Cas carefully points out. “Your brother has made a generous offer.”

“You would side with him!” Sam snaps throwing himself over onto his stomach and silently dismissing them both.

Cas raises a surprised eyebrow at Dean, who sighs.

Again.

“Welcome to cranky Sammy, Cas.”

“Not cranky!” Sam lets them know, though it’s muffled by his face being buried in his pillow. 

And… Dean needs a beer.

 

**#SPN#**

 

“Sammy, sleep.”

Dean’s voice sounds irritated to Sam’s ears as the man sits on his and Cas’ bed. His back rests against the headboard and a map of the US is spread open on his lap; a yellow highlighter in his hand as he maps out the few sightings of Rowena they’ve been made aware of by the hunter network since the call went out.

Cas is asleep beside Dean and Sam feels like telling his brother to fucking join his boyfriend in sleep. Because maybe then Sam won’t have to listen to Dean sighing every five freaking seconds about Sam not being able to get to sleep again.

“I’ve been asleep loads already, Dean!” Sam snaps back. “I can’t go to sleep just ‘cause your grumpy and tell me to, or ‘cause it’s past my bedtime,” he adds, thumping his fists against the lumpy mattress beneath him.

“Then what do you want, Sammy? You want another story? Some juice? You need to go potty again?”

“Don’t want nothin’,” Sam grumbles.

He kicks his legs against the sheet and blanket that are tucked in too tightly at his feet, cursing himself for not untucking them earlier before he climbed in. He absolutely hates his feet tucked in.

He stills as he hears Dean shoving the map off of his lap and standing from his own bed, and curls his arm tighter around the pillow tucked into his side. Dean can be unpredictable when he’s irritated, but he only yanks on the end of Sam’s sheets. They come out from between the mattress and the base a moment later and Sam’s feet are free.

“There.” Dean turns a stern stare on him. “Now. Go. To. Sleep.”

Sam huffs, staring up at the ceiling while Dean returns to his place on his bed. He should thank his brother but he doesn’t feel like being gracious right now.

#

Dean sighs heavily, losing his place in marking out Rowena sightings on the map for the twentieth-odd time only a few minutes later. He knows he shouldn’t be irritated with the kid. Sam’s been through a lot these past few days and maybe he’s entitled to be cranky and out of sorts. But right now, all Dean wants is for Sammy to go back to sleep - proper sleep where he doesn’t wake after only half an hour and get out of bed – so Dean can actually get in the shower he didn’t have earlier. And with some semblance of relative peace. Then get to sleep himself. 

Just five selfish minutes of quiet, that’s all he’s asking for.

Instead he has an overtired little boy on his hands. The flopping and fidgeting around, topped with the little whines – which Dean is pretty sure his kid isn’t even aware he’s doing – are all indications of that.

Because despite the amount of sleep Sam has been getting lately, the kid’s body is still trying to crawl its way back from the stress and lack of sleep it was put through for all those months he was under the influence of addictive pain pills, and his big brother being a dick. And the fever has only thrown them back to the beginning.

It will be a good few months before Sam’s body fully recovers from the toll placed upon it. And it is one of the main reasons why Dean is keeping Sam on the strict bedtime. Though it has become a little more difficult to maintain since they hit the road.

Dean needs to get on top of that.

Unfortunately now that Sammy’s feet have been released from the confine of the blankets, it has freed his kid to kick his legs up and flop them back down on the mattress with irritating thuds. And the kid wonders how he manages to end up in odd sleeping positions or on the floor.

“Sam,” Dean turns his head to stare down his brother, “turn over on your stomach, close your eyes and go to sleep,” he instructs, knowing the kid always sleeps easier in that position.

Sam shakes his head vigorously, arms rising and flopping back down onto the mattress. “Don’t wanna sleep on my tummy,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, well, my patience is wearing thin, kid,” Dean snaps, once again ditching the map off to the side between him and Cas.

Getting to his feet, Dean takes the steps needed to reach Sam’s bed and grasps hold of the kid’s arms, flipping Sam over so he’s lying on his stomach. Sam whines, trying to fidget away from him, but Dean leans over and sets his hand down on the mattress to prevent Sam moving any further.

Sam huffs a moment later after giving up trying to push against a strong arm that isn’t about to budge, and thankfully too tired for his brain to work out he can go around that arm easily enough.

His movement, however, has given Dean enough space to perch on the edge of the mattress. Placing a hand on the back of Sam’s head, Dean scratches lightly at his kid’s scalp and rubs his back with his other hand. The method usually takes thirty seconds to a minute to send the kid out like a light, but five minutes later, Sam is still fidgeting. Still whining. Sammy’s stubborn, overtired brain resisting the usual tried and tested method.  

Dean stares down at his kid, mind whirring. He hears movement from his own bed, and looks over to see Cas rising up onto an elbow and digging a heel of his hand into his eye as he stares over at them.

“Sam’s still awake?” he questions in surprise.

“Yes.” Dean’s voice rings with his baby brother’s, though Sam’s is a grumpy whine as he manages to flip back over onto his back, while Dean’s is filled with pure frustration.

Frustration that will see Dean losing his temper if he doesn’t get Sam back to sleep soon. Something that will not help either one of them. He shakes his head, moving his eyes back to his brother when his peripheral vision picks up the rocking chair sitting at the foot of his and Cas’ bed.

Directing his full gaze towards it, Dean narrows his eyes, taking it in while Cas rises from their bed muttering something about making tea. Glancing down at Sam again before looking back to the rocking chair, Dean nods his head determinedly. It has been a while since it was necessary, but his baby brother is being too stubborn for the usual method.   

Standing, Dean pulls the top blanket off of Sam’s bed and crosses to the rocking chair. Sitting down with his feet planted firmly on the floor he pushes off, the chair starting to rock back and forth as he tests its weight.

Satisfied it will be sturdy enough for what he intends, he arranges the blanket half over one shoulder, leaving the rest flowing down his body.

And waits.

#

Sam raises his head to stare at his brother, before he flops back down on the mattress and throws himself back over onto his stomach with a huff of breath.

He knows he’s being a total shit, but he just can’t seem to stop himself.

And he knows full well what Dean’s doing.

But Sam isn’t going to give in. No siree. He refuses to be rocked to sleep in his big brother’s arms like some two-year-old. He’s big now. And it has been years since Dean has held him like that.

Well, years, as in a couple.

But that time _really_ doesn’t count.

And nor is it ever spoken of because Sam had been pretty out of it from the sickness of the demon trails. His walls crumbled down to the point he’d been left little ability to resist, or shove his brother away when the man hauled him over to an old rocking chair in the bunker and bundled him up in a stupid blanket; strong arms wrapping around him.

He’d eventually melted into the hold, his aches and pains feeling as if they had temporarily dissolved out of existence. And instead of pushing Dean away like he’d been doing for months prior whenever Dean tried to look after him, Sam had allowed himself a moment to be taken care of. Allowed a moment of remembered comfort from his childhood before his stubborn independence reared its ugly head again.  

And just as Sam’s biting his bottom lip against those remembered feelings, his brother’s voice rumbles over him. The sound so soothing and memorable from his childhood – only matured with age – that Sam feels treacherous tears prickle his eyes.

“I’m right here, Sammy,” Dean repeats softly.

Sam grabs his pillow and yanks it over his head to hide from what’s happening. Because a strong part of him wants Dean to force it as he did back then. To pick Sam up and take him to that rocking chair and secure him within the tight folds of the blanket and rock him no matter what Sam says or does. He wants Dean to take charge of him once more and take the option of fighting away from Sam.

But another part of Sam – his stubborn independent side – knows full well he will fight against that very action.

He is NOT going to let Dean rock him like a child anytime in the near or distant future.

He’s not!

Except …

A while later his body and his brain are so far beyond tired now that Sam knows there’s no way he’s getting to sleep without assistance. And he _wants_ to sleep. His body and mind both need it desperately.

And… and… and he _wants_ Dean.

He sniffles, slipping a hand beneath the pillow and wiping over his now runny nose with the back of his hand, smearing snot across it.

_Dean’s_ tired.

Sam _knows_ this.

There’s bags under the man’s eyes. His big brother needs to sleep, but Sam’s also aware that Dean won’t sleep until Sam’s out for the count.

Fighting it like this isn’t fair to his brother.

Or to Cas who has to put up with the both of them.  

God, does he wish he wasn't so stubborn.

That the thought of willingly placing himself on Dean’s lap, in his arms, to be comforted until he falls asleep isn't so mortifying to him. Because it shouldn't be. Dean would do anything for him.

_Does_ do anything that’s required for Sam.

And Sam’s an ass most of the time, treating his brother with far less respect and kindness than the man deserves.

_Fuck_ , he curses as his resolve crumbles.

He wants his big brother right now!!

#

It really wouldn’t surprise Dean if he were to find impressions of his fingers grooved into the wood of the rocking chairs arms when this is over as he’s gripping them that tightly. The thought however doesn’t see him releasing his hold. For that grip is the only thing stilling him from just picking up his kid and carrying Sammy back to the rocking chair whether Sammy wants it or not.

Despite Dean’s heart, gut, chest, everything aching to hold his kid in his arms.

Because if he knows only one thing about his brother, it’s that Sam needs to accept this himself so the kid doesn’t walk that path of embarrassment upon waking in the morning. Unnecessary embarrassment at that. But knowing that doesn’t make watching the desperate struggle within Sammy any less gut wrenching for Dean.

_C’mon, baby, quit fighting it_ , Dean silently pleads with his kid.

Acceptance finally arrives in less time than Dean was expecting; Sammy pushing himself backwards, butt rising and pillow slipping off his head as he turns his face towards Dean. A face that is marred with redness from being squashed beneath the pillow and his crying; it’s covered with snot, and big fat tears leak from the wide young eyes.

They spear Dean straight in the chest, his kid never knowing the true impact his tears have on him. And the spear is driven that much deeper as Dean’s name spills forth in the strangled and sobbed cry that speaks ever so strongly of ‘Fix it, Dean.’

He’s on his feet - ensuring the blanket remains draped over his shoulder - and across the room in the space of time it takes Sammy to sit his butt on his heels and hold out his arms to Dean in a display of ultimate need and acquiescence. Dean hauls his kid up into his strong arms.

Sammy’s legs wind around his waist as easily and instinctively as they had back at the farmhouse. Arms slip over his shoulders and he can feel fingers grip tightly at the back of his collar when the kid buries his face in Dean’s neck and atop the fold of the blanket, his body shaking with the force of his tears.

“Shh, you’re okay, baby boy,” Dean says, levelling his voice quiet and soothing as he holds a hand to the back of Sam’s head. “I gotcha, Sammy.”

His eye catches Cas standing at the kitchenette as he crosses back towards the rocker; his partner holding up the carton of milk and Sammy’s blue sippy-cup with one finger pointing at the microwave. Dean nods. It won’t hurt to give it a try.

Reaching the rocker, he manoeuvres Sammy’s legs from around his waist and to his right side so he can sit back down. He situates his brother more comfortably on his lap, ensuring his baby boy is lying down as much as possible in his arms and settles his kid’s weight.

“Shhh, two seconds, buddy,” Dean murmurs when Sammy’s cries intensify upon Dean gently easing his kid’s arms down from around his neck.

Grasping a corner of the blanket he proceeds to wrap Sammy up snug in the fabric with remembered ease, only Sammy’s head and sock-clad feet remaining outside of the folds. Pushing his feet against the floor once again, Dean starts to rock them back and forth, softly humming _Hey Jude_ while gently stroking one finger down the centre of Sam’s forehead and over his kid’s nose. Just as he used to do when his baby brother was much littler and Dean would rock him to sleep like this.

Just as Dean had watched their Mom do for Sammy.  

Though both of them were considerably smaller and fit more easily in a rocking chair back then; Sammy more so. It still amazes Dean some days how the baby brother who had still barely progressed passed five feet as a fifteen year old could be such a giant today.

And considering how fiercely Sammy was fighting sleep, it takes little time before he is fully relaxed in Dean’s arms. His cries dwindling off into hiccupping sniffles as he burrows closer to Dean’s chest. Dean offers a gentle smile to the wet eyes staring up at him, before flickering his gaze upwards at Cas holding out Sammy’s sippy-cup. He accepts it from his partner with quiet thanks, Cas’ returning smile holding sadness as he gazes down at Sammy.

“He’s okay,” Dean tells him softly, eyes already dropping back down to his baby boy.

“I know,” Cas replies just as quietly. “But I don’t like seeing him so upset.”

_Nobody does_ , Dean thinks as he gives the sippy-cup a gentle shake. It can make you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy, even when the reason for Sammy’s upset is not your fault; the sight of the kid’s tears ripping your heart out like a fucking bitch. And if you’re lucky you won’t find tears of your own straying away from your control.  

Dean shakes away those thoughts as a tired whine leaves his baby boy’s mouth; Sammy wriggling in his arms as much as the swaddle allows. Dean doesn’t draw attention to it by shushing his kid, just continues to rock, setting the cup to Sammy’s mouth as he starts to hum once again. His baby boy’s lips immediately seal around the soft spout without fuss and he draws it in; Dean feeling the pull against the hand fixed around the body of the sippy-cup as Sammy starts suckling.

It doesn’t take long before the kid’s eyes start to droop, the pull on the cup trailing off, only for Sammy’s eyes to startle back open again a moment later to focus on Dean and start suckling once more. Still humming and rocking, Dean rests his head against the back of the rocking chair, face tilted downwards to watch his kid. And for the first time in days, he feels his own body truly start to relax …

His name being called by a low voice has Dean blinking open eyes he’s unsure when he even closed. He groans, hand rising to the back of his neck and he rubs at the knot he feels there from having had his head at a cock-eyed angle. He raises his eyes to Cas now seated crossed-legged in the centre of their bed, laptop open in front of him and staring across at Dean with a soft smile.

“Huh?”

“You fell asleep.”

“I did?” Dean questions surprised, swiping a hand across his face before looking down at Sammy still snuggled into his arms and now sound asleep.

The soft spout of the sippy-cup has been exchanged for the cartoon puppy pacifier Sam had given back to Dean yesterday. And he’s pretty sure Sam didn’t put that there himself despite accepting the sippy-cup. Dean returns his gaze to Cas who has risen from the bed and is walking around it to stand in front of them.

“Mm-hmm,” Cas murmurs, leaning down and resting his hands upon the arms of the rocking chair, soft lips meeting the slightly chapped lips belonging to Dean before pulling back.

“How long?” Dean queries.

“About an hour,” Cas responds with another kiss. “Is it weird if I say this looks right somehow?” he questions softly, gazing down at Sam before his eyes return to Dean’s. “Sam cradled in your arms like he belongs there.”

Dean’s gaze strays down to his baby boy, and he smiles lightly. Because hell yeah, Sammy belongs where he is. And yeah, he guesses it might be weird from a stranger’s standpoint - if they decided to be nosey fucking bastards like the asshole next door to the old room - to see a six-foot-four adult male swaddled in the arms of his big brother like a baby.

But since when has Dean ever given two fucks about what strangers think?

Let’s see… oh, right.

Never.

“It’s only as weird as you make it, Cas,” Dean finally responds.

“Then I guess it isn’t weird at all.”

Dean smiles tiredly. “We should put him back to bed. Hopefully we’ll all have a nightmare-free night.”

“We can only hope.” Cas releases his hold on the rocking chair and steps back so Dean can stand with his large bundle in his arms.

Crossing to the bed it looks as if Cas did more than browse Sammy’s laptop in the past hour Dean was sleeping. Sam’s bedcovers have been straightened back into order and three extra pillows now sit on the end of the bed. “Where’d you find those?”

“In the coffee table.”

“Huh?” Dean blinks over at his partner amused.

Cas shoots him a grin. “Turns out it’s actually a wooden chest the motel seems to be doubling as a coffee table. I found Sam an extra blanket as well.”

“Awesome,” Dean responds, laying Sammy down in the centre of the kid’s bed and carefully unravels the blanket the kid is still swaddled in.

Cas’ find has given them enough pillows to place two either side of Sammy, and Dean does just that; situating them secure enough that hopefully they’ll at least offer some protection from Sammy falling out again. But also leaves the kid enough leeway to fidget. Pulling the sheet and then the blanket over his kid, he tucks it in while leaving the end free for Sammy’s feet. He then waits until Cas has shaken out the other blanket and laid it over Sammy also, before Dean brushes a stray strand of hair from Sammy’s face and leans down, placing a kiss to his baby boy’s forehead.

Cas moves around the other side of the bed to also place a kiss to Sam’s forehead, offering a soft “Sleep tight, Little One,” as he pulls away. A yawn slips out as he straightens.

“Bed?” Dean suggests, raising his arms to the sky so he can stretch out his back.

“Bed.” Cas agrees.

Stifling a yawn of his own behind a hand, Dean sets about following his nightly routine of locking up while Cas takes first turn in the bathroom. He first checks the motel door is fully locked and then does the same with the window. He also ensures the salt line on the windowsill is still intact – an added precaution Dean has taken to setting back up again – as well as the two protective sigils on the back of the door and window panes. They are drawn in the washable colour markers Sam isn’t allowed to use for his colouring and which means they can easily be removed before they vacate the room.

It had been Sammy’s idea several years back; his baby brother concerned they were practically leaving calling cards in the motel rooms they stay at for the cops, FBI or the smarter of the supernatural to follow. And as long as someone doesn’t wet their finger and wipe at one of the sigils swirls before then, then they’re all set and protected until they wash them off.    

Cas is stripping down to his boxers and tee when he re-enters the bedroom, and Dean goes into the bathroom to take a leak and brush his teeth. A yawn forces its way out as he returns to the bedroom without switching off the bathroom light, and leaves the door cracked open to the bare minimum. Just enough for the small amount of light to be visible again for Sammy if he wakes during the night. 

Though Dean really hopes Sammy will sleep through until morning without any more nightmares.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam sits in the centre of his bed with the pillows he had found upon waking ten minutes ago still seated slightly askew around him. No doubt from his fidgeting, but at least he hadn’t ended up on the floor again. A not too unfamiliar situation and last night clearly proved he still can’t manage to keep his fidgeting butt in a bed even when it’s a queen.

He glances over to the bed holding his sleeping big brother and Cas, and prays they’ll both remain asleep just a little while longer so he can set his plan into motion. One he’d started working on after their trip to the store in Nebraska six days ago and is only now being given the chance to execute.

Sam sighs softly and runs his hands through his hair. He had given in last night. He had stopped fighting the emotions raging through him and they had silently led him to the startling realisation while he was wrapped tight in his brothers arms that his heart and soul want it; the care, the love, the comfort.

All of it.

Just being looked after like he’s a little kid again and having total faith and trust in his big brother’s ability to keep him safe and always be there.

And Dean… He had felt his brother relax; the stress seeping away from the man’s body as they both drifted into sleep; Sam having been able to give that to his big brother.

But that is all a pipe dream of the part of his soul belonging to the little boy he had allowed to rise spectacularly to the fore last night when he stopped fighting it.

A dream that cannot be fulfilled. It just isn't on the cards. It can’t be.

For any of them.

They’re hunters. And competent ones at that. They know their jobs. And they know their place in this world is saving people. Domestication just doesn’t go hand in hand with the job description. No matter how much Sam’s yearned for that normalcy in the past and still does to a silent degree.

But if Sam were a little kid, he wouldn’t be a hunter anymore. Dean wouldn’t allow it. Sam was seventeen before he was allowed on his first official hunt. Official, because he had been doing the research for years, but Dean had never before allowed him to take the next step into the world where safety rarely exists. His brother had instead, when the time came, been forced to accept it and hide his true feelings behind his snarky attitude.

But that’s not something Sam need worry about. He’s a grown man, not a child. And he needs to get back to looking after himself by not relying on his brother and Cas to do it for him.

And while Dean has shown such attentiveness, taken such care as he always has, and Cas has followed his lead, it isn’t fair to either. To Dean, who has been forced to take care of Sam his entire life and shouldn’t have to continue to do so for the duration of his life. To Cas, who is going through the struggles of being newly human again and working out how to be in a full time relationship with Dean Winchester.

Both men should be living their own lives, not having to deal with this; the looking after, the watching out for someone who’s behaviour is spiking into irrational at best, and utterly crazy at worse.

Dean’s already had to do that for him.

And Cas has too, to the degree of taking hallucinations of Lucifer into himself and freeing Sam from death; taking care of Sam in his own way.

And who’s to say that what’s currently happening to Sam won’t start happening to Dean, to Cas, further down the line?

That’s not something Sam can allow to happen.

It has to stop with him.

But to do that, he needs to get a grip on whatever it is inside of him that is reacting to Dean, and bury it so that he can function rationally without turning into a whiny baby every five minutes. He needs to stop sucking his thumb. He needs to ditch the sippy-cups. The colouring. The need to be held. And the pacifier he’s holding within his fingers, that he woke up holding between his lips, will have to do a disappearing act. No matter the tightness currently growing within his chest at just the thought alone or the cartoon puppy’s big eyes staring up at him forlornly.

Sam draws his eyes away, enclosing the pacifier within his fist.

It has to go.  

Because he needs to fix this.

He needs to figure out what the hell he did with that spell once and for all – with or without finding the witch - and set it back to rights. Before things tumble so far down the rabbit hole that there is no going back for any of them.

But first he needs to find out if this town has a decent library. 

Swiping his phone off the nightstand, Sam pushes the blankets away and climbs from the bed. He dresses quickly and quietly, slipping his feet into his brown leather slip-on boots. Leaning down to pull the hem of his left jean leg out of his boot he feels the object in his hand and stares down at the pacifier still in his hold.

He blinks open his eyes a moment later – at least he thinks it’s only been a moment – to find himself suckling against the silicone nipple enclosed between his lips and his body slightly swaying from side to side. And it amazes him how such a small and simple thing can actually make him feel calm; all those parents out there pretty accurate in calling it a soother.

_No_ , Sam grabs the ring and yanks the thing out of his mouth, feeling the immediate loss and doing his best to ignore it as he firmly reminds himself it has to go.

And to prove it to himself he hovers his hand over the trashcan sitting half underneath the nightstand fully intending to drop the pacifier within. Only Sam finds his hand rising almost against his will to set the pacifier down on the nightstand beside Dean’s sleeping head instead – silently giving it back to the man once again.

_To look after_ , a little voice in his mind assures, _De-De will keep it safe._

Sam firmly shakes his head, stepping away from the nightstand. _Dean can do whatever he wants with it. I’m a big boy. I don’t need a paci no more. So shut up._ Sam rolls his shoulders and tiptoes over to the rocking chair to snag his laptop from the seat. He tucks it under his arm and crosses into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

After quickly taking care of his morning needs and brushing his teeth, Sam picks his phone up from the small work surface beside the sink and unlocks it. Trying to access the internet only rewards him with a ‘You are not connected to a network’ message.

Entering the settings for his Wi-Fi he taps out the motel room number on the screen as the login box is requesting. And plants his jean-clad butt on the edge of the bathtub a second later, whispering, “You gotta be kidding me,” in annoyed disbelief as he stares down at his phone now requiring a wealth of information out of him just to access the damn internet.

Including payment details. Because apparently: Room 119 has expended its 5 hours free Wi-Fi. 

One simple message plunging Sam’s world into the equivalent of a Wi-Fi dead zone. Unless he swipes Dean’s credit card. _Dammit._ _Why didn’t I say yes to a credit card this go round?_ He sighs unhappily, raking a hand through his hair.

If Dean were awake right now, Sam would already have that card in his grasp with one simple request. However, having his brother awake is the exact opposite of what Sam wants; it would completely go against his plan in fact. Which only leaves the swiping of the card.

Except, going in his brother’s wallet without permission and retrieving the card is the equivalent of Sam planting a target on his bottom in neon frigging pink. Because Dean will know. No matter if Sam gets the card out and put back before his brother wakes, Dean _always_ freaking knows.

Grabbing his laptop off the closed potty seat, Sam opens it and is grateful it hasn’t been shut down properly. Pressing the power button it immediately boots up into the access screen and he inputs his password. Only for the screen to tell him two seconds later that the password is incorrect.

Huh.

_Maybe I input it incorrectly_ , he muses with a frown and retypes the password, only for the same thing to happen. And it’s only as he’s typing in the password for the third time that he twigs to what’s happening and he lets out an irritated sigh.

Although… Sam’s lips curve up into a half-smirk and with a few taps of fingers against keys he inputs _3819mVytw0_ into the login box. The simple password immediately gains him access to his laptop.

He shakes his head with a small snort. _Really Dean?_

Sam’s amusement at his brother’s attempt to keep him out of the laptop – and probably his tablet too - slowly dies as he tries to access what he needs to in order to navigate his way around the stupid limitation on the Wi-Fi. He’s getting blocked at every freaking turn and … no, he didn’t!

Sam quickly opens the control panel and finds that, yes, Dean did, and Sam’s currently in an account that has full parental controls on it and no administrative access.

Rolling his eyes, Sam easily slips through several backdoors to access the administrator window and inputs the password … only to be thwarted again.    

_Dammit._

With the way his brother behaves it is sometimes easy, even for Sam, to forget that Dean is a lot smarter then he wishes the rest of the world to know. And that includes working his way around a computer when Dean truly sets his mind to it. Changing the login password is child’s play and Dean’s changed it to something so stupidly simple for the exact purpose of telling Sam the administrative password is something he won’t figure out in a million years.

Which means Dean probably just pressed a bunch of random keys.

_Stupid idiot control-freak of a brother!!_    

And without that access to the internet, Sam can’t download a program to tell him what that administrative password is so that he can damn well change the thing to something Dean won’t ever figure out.

“Guess it’s time to go old school,” he grumbles, shutting his laptop and rising to his feet.

He pushes his phone into his right front jean pocket as he crosses to the bathroom door. Opening it, he glances across the room to check Dean and Cas are still sleeping before he tiptoes out of the bathroom and through the bedroom into the living area.

Grabbing up his brown leather bag he slips the laptop inside as his eyes fall upon the Impala’s keys sitting atop the table beneath the window to his right. A smirk flitters across his lips. Taking the car would be a nice little punishment for Dean changing the passwords. Plus it will get Sam from A to B a lot quicker than his legs.

However as he moves to pick them up he guiltily snatches his fingers away at the ruffle of bedcovers behind him. Quickly glancing over his shoulder to look through the opening into the bedroom, he sees Dean roll over onto his side, mumbling something under his breath but still clearly asleep.

Sam breathes a sigh of relief.

And keeping one eye on his brother and Cas, he moves to pick up the keys again only to have the feeling of naughtiness for what he’s doing creep back in. Along with the memory of consequences that come with taking _this_ car. Because as pissed as he might be towards Dean for the password changes, he’d really rather not face being punched by his brother again thank you very much.

Although, knowing Dean, the punishment for Sam in regards to that rule has probably now shifted into a spanking also.

Sam huffs and leaves the keys where they are. Instead, he grabs Dean’s notebook off the table and opens it, tearing out the first blank page he comes across before quietly setting the notebook back down. He quickly scribbles out a note and situates it so it can easily be seen.

Picking up his wallet, he slips it into his back jeans pocket and grabs up his jacket from the back of a chair. Sliding his arms into the sleeves, he crosses the short distance to the motel door. And as his hand falls onto the doorknob, he again glances over his shoulder at Dean and Cas’ sleeping forms, chewing on his bottom lip as indecision wages war inside him.

He knows he should at least wake Dean.

Except his brother will insist on accompanying Sam and that’s the last thing he needs if he’s going to find some answers. He still doesn’t want his brother and Cas figuring out exactly what he’s researching. At least not until what Sam thinks he’s been seeing lately is clear in his own head. He needs to be able to do this alone.

And for that reason, Sam snaps his gaze away and shakes off his hesitancy.

Pulling the motel door open, Sam never notices the admittance of air taking into its grasp a vulnerable sheet of paper. It flutters across the table before its voyage comes to a halt; wavering against the chasm created by the straight edge of the metal table and the slightly curved back of the dining chair seated beneath the one window. The breeze releases its hold and gravity steps in; bringing that defenseless piece of paper’s journey to an end upon the seat of the plastic chair tucked away neatly under the table as silence prevails with the closing of a door.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! So this story is one year old on the 14th April! Happy Birthday, Home! So I thought what better way to celebrate then to gift you all with a new chapter :-D
> 
> However, I’m not sure I’m happy with all of it, which should be becoming familiar by now :/ 
> 
> But an ENORMOUS thank you to all who have bookmarked and left comments and kudos on this story. You are all wonderful people x

**THEN**

_Pulling the motel door open, Sam never notices the admittance of air taking into its grasp a vulnerable sheet of paper. It flutters across the table before its voyage comes to a halt; wavering against the chasm created by the straight edge of the metal table and the slightly curved back of the dining chair seated beneath the one window. The breeze releases its hold and gravity steps in; bringing that defenseless piece of paper’s journey to an end upon the seat of the plastic chair tucked away neatly under the table as silence prevails with the closing of a door._  

**NOW**

Quietly pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click, Sam traverses the wooden footpath that runs in front of the rooms. Entering the motel office the bell rings overhead, immediately announcing Sam’s presence.

The guy sitting behind the office desk turns his head from a bulky and muted TV the moment the bell sounds and shuts off the TV. He has to be late forties, maybe early fifties; short salt and pepper hair falling across one side of the guy’s head; nose crooked and too big for his face, he greets Sam with a grin that reveals straight teeth with only a few stains.

A shiver passes through Sam as the guy continues to stare unblinkingly at him far longer than is socially acceptable to be doing so. Sam draws his laptop bag closer to his body, wanting to turn right back around and exit the office without gaining the information he came here for in the first place. He wants to go wake up Dean and tell him this guy is giving him the creeps, and Dean can come and tell the guy to quit it with the staring already. Or, you know, just punch him in the face and knock his eyeballs around. Just a little bit.

But Sam clears his throat instead. “Hey, um, is there a library in town?” he questions seeing as it’s evident this guy’s brain is stuck elsewhere. 

“Sure, sure,” the guy finally finds his voice. “Sits on Redfern Avenue. When you reach town just follow Main Street for three blocks, you’ll find it.” The guy leans slightly forward over the counter, eyes shooting down and slowly tracking upwards until they focus back on Sam’s face. “You’re tall.”

_Wow, way to state the obvious, dude,_ Sam almost snorts and only just manages to hold himself back as he tightens his arms around his bag. “Yeah.” Sam turns to go only to begrudgingly stop and look over his shoulder when the guy calls out to him.

“You needn’t go all that way if you’re just after somethin’ to read, I got a bunch of books and material …” the guy says, beginning to gesture behind him with a hand towards a closed door.    

“What I need can only be found in a library, but thank you,” Sam is quick to point out.

“Well aren’t you a polite boy. Most kids nowadays don’t even know what manners are.”

_Oh god, seriously?_ Sam fumes quietly. He doesn’t look so freaking young that he can be confused for a kid anymore. And this guy calling him boy… yeah, no, Sam takes great fucking exception to it, even as his cheeks heat in embarrassment at the guy’s latter words.

He can’t help it if Dean taught him to have manners. Especially when his brother doesn’t much care for using them himself. He flashes a brief fake smile, tightening his hold against his bag once again and makes his way out of the office as quickly as he can without actually running. Another shiver passes through him as he steps out into open air that has nothing to do with the cold.

Setting off, he makes a silent reminder to himself to stay far, _far_ away from the office for the remainder of their stay.

Crossing the parking lot, Sam’s eyes drift to room one-nineteen where his brother and Cas still sleep. He’s strongly fighting the part of him shouting that he should stop being a naughty boy and get his bottom back in that room. Crawl back into bed, go back to sleep, and behave as if he hadn’t stepped out of the room at all this morning when he wakes again.

Then Dean and Cas can’t possibly be mad at him.

But he steadies his resolve. Forces himself to keep walking. Firmly telling himself this is what needs to be done. And a minute later he hits the main road.  

Glancing briefly up at the signpost planted in the sidewalk, he sets off to the right, heading for the township of Redfern Grove.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Bare toes curling into the wet sand beneath his feet, Castiel silently observes the magical array of sunset colours splashed across the horizon and reflecting in the ocean standing calm before him. A calm that belies the might it can deliver upon the world when nature speaks up; both beautiful and hideous in its everlasting reminders of potency and anger, never to be taken for granted again.

But the beauty before him will never hold a candle to that which lies behind him; the sound of his husband and child’s laughter curving his lips into the smile they hold.

And peering over his shoulder at the pair, his smile widens until a soft chuckle flows from him at the sight of the man and child immersed in trampling the previously built sandcastle city beneath their feet. Catching his husband’s eye, the other man grins before grabbing up their child around the waist and throwing the squealing boy over his shoulder to spin around in the mess of sand the two have just created.

His own laughter merging with theirs, Cas moves to join them …

“Cute kid.”

Cas spins around at the familiar voice disturbing their peace. “Gabriel?” he questions with disbelief.

Gabriel smirks. “In the flesh… so to speak.”

“No,” Cas growls, with a shake of his head. “I have been through this before. You are just a figment of my imagination. Or someone else’s idea of a twisted game. Leave. Now!”

“Oh, sure,” Gabriel shrugs. “I just figured I’d save you experiencing the heartache of what comes next, but, hey, little bro, I’ll leave and come back …”

Cas deflates, hunching over against the fear of knowing what comes next in this recurring dream had Gabriel – or whoever it is – not barged in. And he would rather not watch everything he holds dear be destroyed before his eyes. Again. “No. Stay. Please.”

“If you insist.” Gabriel shrugs, parking his behind on the sand to watch Castiel’s husband and child playing.

Cas sighs and joins him. “How are you here when you are dead, Gabriel?”

“Of all the young angels, you had to go ahead and be the most friggin’ stubborn.” Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“I am not stubborn.”

Gabriel snorts. “Yeah, you are. Because damn, bro, you are seriously not getting it,” he shakes his head, and Cas can feel the rising power radiating off the being beside him. Or at least a latent aspect; a remembered feeling of what it was to be in Gabriel’s presence when the archangel was breaching upon angry. “This is ME, okay. I mean it, Castiel.”

A large part of Castiel truly wishes to believe it, but it just cannot be. Gabriel was killed with his own archangel blade; an absolute end. He shakes his head and firmly reiterates, “ _You._ _Are. Dead_.”

Gabriel sighs. “Dead, yeah, sure. Depending on who you ask of course.”

“What does that mean?” Cas questions sharply.

“Oh, please, you honestly think you’re the only one Dad has a soft spot for?” Gabriel snorts. “Even if he never shows it.”

Cas cannot help but stare at him in surprise. “Our Father brought you back?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Come on, Cassie. Don’t tell me all those boring-ass lessons all newbie angels suffer through have gone to waste?”

“Many of Heaven’s teachings no longer hold any credence in my life, Gabriel.” _Not after Naomi,_ he adds silently, but Gabriel looks at him as if he understands, which is most likely.

“Regardless whether they do or don’t, you should remember what happens to an archangel if or when they die.”

Cas sucks in a breath, his eyes widening with recollection. “Your essence is bound to Father. To return to him upon death.”

“No passing Go. No collecting two-hundred … The reason Dad had Michael banish Luci rather than kill him outright, I imagine. So he didn’t have to listen to Luci grumbling for eternity. Of course there was also that pesky apocalypse.”

“That apocalypse claimed Sam’s life! And Dean nearly followed!” Cas responds angrily.

“They weren’t the only ones as I _personally_ recall, Castiel.”

Cas stills his anger at the truth of Gabriel’s words. “I apologise, brother.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it, bro.” Gabriel waves a hand. “I had a job to do.”

“A job? You are dead.”

“And we’re still lingering there,” Gabriel snorts. “Fine. Yes. I’m dead. But my essence exists within my own personal little bubble in the very inner echelons of Heaven. Now, at least. Before that … I had a job to do,” he reiterates.

“A job in Heaven?”

“Heaven. Time. Reality.” Gabriel looks out to the horizon, a haunted look in his eyes Cas has never seen on his prankster loving brother before.

“What are you talking about, Gabriel?”

Gabriel sighs and the look is gone; his gaze tracking to Cas’ husband and child playing around. “He really is a cute kid.”

“I know.” Cas sighs at the deflection. “ _Why_ are you here, Gabriel?” He questions, turning to stare at his brother only to have a gasp escape him as a curtain of white rolls across and submerges the honey-brown eyes of Gabriel's known vessel in the blink of an eye.

Gabriel’s mouth opens, his lips move, but the voice that alights is a hollow whisper that sends chills down Cas’ spine. “ _Knowledge seek to answers gain … Seek the grey … Gain the key …”_ Gabriel shakes his head and his eyes return to normal.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cas glares at his brother.

“How do I know?” Gabriel shrugs. “I’m just the messenger,” he adds, holding up his hands before him. “I have no idea what I even said. So whatever it was, well… that’s entirely up to you and the other two stooges to figure out. But… be careful, little bro. It isn’t safe for any of you, especially not …”  

He barely blinks, but Gabriel is gone, and Cas is plunged back into his dream as darkness descends overhead more rapidly than should be possible. 

He jumps to his feet and moves to rush to his family, but he cannot move. Dread fills him as he stares downwards to see his feet have sunk into the sand. And as he tries to pull them free they only sink deeper, now trapping his lower legs within a vice built of sand and water.

Cas’ family have stopped playing, his husband back on his feet with their child protectively cradled against his chest as he notices Cas’ predicament. Cas calls out to him while the other man does the same as he charges forwards to reach Cas, but a sudden hush envelopes the area as if all sound has been sucked from the world and their voices disappear with it.

Lightning flashes across the dark sky and with a boom, a fork impacts the sand separating him from his husband and child. With it, the existence of sound slams into him like the buzz of a million locusts bearing down on them as energy crackles up from the point of impact, growing larger by the second and beginning to take shape.

Cas’ watches his husband’s anguished green eyes flicker down to the sand holding Cas immobile, before glancing down to their child. His eyes flicker back up to Cas, the unspoken apology clear.

Cas nods, his heart hammering in his chest as he does the only thing he can do to try and save them. “Run!”

His husband manages to take only a step before an invisible force sharply yanks their screaming child out of the man’s fierce grip; their little boy flying backwards directly into the dark vortex of energy whirling within the developing humanoid form, his fathers’ screams following him …

#

Blindly reaching for the buzzing phone on the nightstand and fingers curling around the irritating device as he leans up on an elbow to jam a finger against the screen, Dean sets it to his ear and gruffly snaps, “Yeah,” with a voice still fogged with sleep. “Kara, hey,” Dean swipes a hand down his face, waking up a little at the voice on the other end, but feeling like absolute shit.

A quick look at his watch reveals why. He’s been asleep for less than five fucking hours after being awake for nearly five days. He groans inwardly, quietly cursing the woman for waking him up. Yet at the same time, he knows Kara wouldn’t be calling unless it was important.

“Whoa, Kara, slow down,” Dean stresses, shifting himself to sit up slightly, “you think what? … Right now? … Alright, send it through.” Dean pulls the phone from his ear.

It beeps a moment later and he opens the text message to view the picture Kara just sent him; it’s grainy, but he can just make out the red hair and the short stature of the individual it belongs to in the photo. The side profile might hold a resemblance to Rowena, but it’s just too blurry.

He sets the phone back to his ear. “That’s not a lot to go on, Kara. Can you get a …” Dean’s words dissolve as he nearly jumps out of his skin instead as Cas bolts upright beside him with a gasp, the other man panting heavily as if he’s just reached the end of a long ass marathon. “Cas. Hey.” Dean quickly ditches his phone on the bed in front of him while shifting himself around so he can rub one hand over Cas’ back and grip his shoulder with the other to give his partner grounding support. “Cas, just take it easy. Breathe, man.”  

Cas finally blinks and turns to face him, skin almost ashen. “S-Sorry,” the man apologises quietly once his breathing is under manageable control. “Strange dream.”

“Yeah, kinda figured that,” Dean acknowledges just as quietly before the sound of Kara bellowing through his phone, asking what’s going on, draws his attention. He quickly brings the device near his mouth and snaps, “Hang on, Kara,” lest the sound of the woman’s voice wakes Sammy, who has thankfully remained asleep since the phone buzzed to life.

“I’m okay, Dean. Take your call,” Cas tells him, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs over the side.

“You sure? I can call her back.”

Cas turns to look at him over his shoulder. “It’s Kara. It’s important,” the man responds, giving him a nod to go ahead, and a half smile that Dean is supposed to believe as reassuring, but feels anything but.

However, he knows Cas will talk when he’s good and ready and the quicker he takes this call, the quicker Dean’s free for Cas if the man needs him.

Releasing a sigh, Dean sets his phone back to his ear, “Kara, hey, sorry about that.”

He listens to what she has to say in regards to this possible sighting of Rowena as he watches Cas trudge his way towards the bathroom; the man running his fingers unconsciously over the bottom of Sam’s bed the way Dean often does to ensure himself of his kid’s presence.

But Cas stops with his next step and turns to the bed with a deep frown. With a frown of his own, Dean turns his gaze fully to his kid’s bed to check what’s putting that look on his partner’s face when Sammy’s sleeping peacefully.

Except… Dean realises it’s much too quiet. He can’t hear Sammy’s little snuffling snores and he’s far too attuned to that sound. And with that realisation, he also realises the shape beneath the rumpled covers is wrong. And though it is still relatively dark in the room, with only a slither of dull light from the bathroom for illumination, Dean still can’t make out his kid’s mop of brown hair the way he usually can.

Ending his call without preamble and throwing back his covers as he does, Dean pats his hand down on Sam’s blankets and has to brace himself against the mattress with his hands as the blankets immediately deflate flat against the bed.

He and Cas stare at each other for a fraction of a second before they separate; Cas taking the bathroom, while Dean runs into the living area, calling his brother’s name. Throwing open the heavy drapes to allow the early morning light in, he quickly surveys the main room, finding no trace of his baby brother. But he does notice the kid’s jacket is missing along with the brown messenger bag Sam generally carries his laptop around in.

Crossing to the entrance door, Dean knows full well he’s going to find it unlocked before he twists the handle and wrenches it open. With rising anger coursing through his veins, he steps out into the cold, his eyes tracking a parking lot that also holds no sign of his kid.

“He’s not in the bathroom,” Cas informs him from the doorway, voice filled with worry. “But his laptop is no longer on the rocking chair and his messenger bag is gone. And this was on the nightstand next to you.” Cas holds up the pacifier Sam had been put to bed with after being rocked to sleep in Dean’s arms. “Do you think this …?”

“I don’t know,” Dean growls, snatching the pacifier out of his partner’s hand as he storms his way back into the room. “I do know that kid’s backside is so fucking toast when I get a hold of him! And he’s grounded! For fucking eternity.”

“Dean,” Cas chides lightly as he closes the door behind him, “we don’t know he left of his own …”

Dean rounds on him and barks out, “Do those sigils look intact to you, Cas?!” He throws an arm out in gesture towards the back of the motel door. “‘Cause they fucking do to me!”

“It could have been something that can bypass those sigils, Dean,” Cas points out, trying to be a voice of reason as he follows Dean back into the bedroom.

“And this thing kindly waited for Sam to pack up his laptop and put on his jacket and clothes did it?” Dean snorts angrily. “Where the fuck did I put my phone!” he growls.

“Dean, you need to calm down,” Cas intones as he pulls his sweater over his head. “Sam would have left a note, would he not?”

“Do you see a note lying around here anywhere, Cas?” Dean snaps, pulling his jeans up his legs.

“Exactly, Dean. Sam would have left a note had he walked out of here of his own volition.”

“You want him to have been fucking kidnapped, that it, Cas?!”

“No! You damn well know that’s not what I’m saying, Dean!”

“Coulda fooled me!” Dean snarks, slamming his feet into his boots.

“There is no talking to you when you’re like this!” Cas snaps back.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Dean demands. Cas lets out an angry huff and turns, heading towards the entrance into the main room. “And where the fuck are you going?”

“To the office! To see if they have seen Sam while I try calling him on _my_ phone! But you carry on looking for _your_ damn phone, Dean!” Cas shouts back at him, pulling his own phone out of his coat pocket and spinning on his heels. Except his feet get tangled up in his anger and he smacks into the floor beside the dining table, much like Sam had done yesterday. “Goddammit!” Cas growls.

“Serves you fucking right,” Dean can’t help snapping, his worry and anger getting the better of him.

“Yeah, and fuck you, too,” Cas snarls back at him, pushing himself up on his hands and knees.

Dean angrily rolls his eyes, finally finding his phone amongst the folds of his bed’s blankets. Snatching it up, his finger is just pressing down on the screen when Cas yells his name from the other room.

“What?!” Dean barks, stomping his way over to where Cas is now sitting on his ass and holding up a lined piece of paper with Sam’s familiar and messy writing across it. He reaches down and snatches the paper out of his partner’s hand to quickly read over it:

_GONE TO TOWN_

_BACK SOO_ _N_

_I'_ _M FINE_

_SA_ _M_  

Dean raises his eyes to Cas, who stares back at him with stormy blue eyes. “I’m definitely kicking that kid’s ass six ways to fucking Sunday.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

It’s a twenty minute walk before Sam reaches the edge of town and he really wishes he’d grabbed a bottle of water out of the vending machine. The cold air is sapping his breath away and causing his mouth to dry out. Thankfully, he quickly spots a sign for a café and heads for it.

When he enters Dots Coffeehouse a few minutes later, Sam observes each person seated at the tables and at the serving counter with a couple of quick sweeping glances as he makes his way up the central aisle to the counter. He pulls off his gloves, sticking them in his bag as he surveys the menu nailed to the back wall behind the counter.

“What can I get you, Hun?”

It’s on the very tip of Sam’s tongue to order his usual half-caf, double vanilla latte, but Dean’s voice pops up in his ear telling him not to even think about it. He wants to do it anyway. Dean’s not here, he’s not going to know Sam’s had a coffee. But Sam also doesn’t want to chance facing Dean’s unnatural ability of just knowing when Sam’s been naughty.

_Gah, there’s that word_ _again. I meant_ _misbehaved_ , Sam corrects himself quickly, _when I’ve misbehaved, not… not that stupid word._

“Sir?”

Sam shakes himself awake and smiles shyly at the lady behind the counter. “Um, coffee, black, strong,” Sam bites his lip as the words leave his mouth; he hadn’t meant to say that.

He releases his lip to change the order when he snaps his mouth shut with a quick shake of his head. Because if he’s going to take charge of his life again then he’s damn well having coffee.

Screw Dean’s issues on the matter.

“Extra-large,” he adds, with another shy smile. “Um, a bottle of water, too, and one of those double chocolate cookies please.” 

A cookie isn’t exactly substantial breakfast material but at least the large round thick cookie will be a good filler until he gets back to the motel. Plus nothing else they have to offer is appealing to him right now.

“Here you go,” the barista sets his order down on the counter in front of him a minute later.

“Thanks.”

“That’ll be five ninety, Hun.”

Sam hands over the cash; grateful for once to actually have the accurate change thanks to his brother’s resistance to carrying coin. Opening his bottle of water, he takes several long gulps to quench his thirst, before recapping the bottle and slipping it into his laptop bag. Replacing his gloves on his hands, he grasps the napkin curled around his cookie, picks up his tall coffee and heads back out into the frigid air.

Taking his first mouthful of coffee once it’s cooled enough, Sam’s eyes close involuntarily. He may not savour the taste, because to be perfectly honest it tastes just as disgusting as always – more so without milk - but from that first taste, he knows his body is being filled with wonderful caffeine.

And he suddenly feels more awake than he has in weeks, a small grin sliding over his lips. Because the first thing he’s going to do when he speaks to his brother again is tell the man the coffee ban is no longer in place. And Dean’s not allowed to dictate what Sam feeds his _own_ body.

_Yep, I’m back in control,_ Sam’s grin widens and he gives an unconscious little skip along the sidewalk.

He finds the library easily enough with creepy motel guy’s directions, though Sam has no doubts he could have found the place on his own. It would’ve saved him that awkward encounter. But he hadn’t wanted to venture into town without knowing the place actually had a library first.

It’s the only reason he’s here.

He dumps his empty coffee container and the napkin in the trash can outside the doors, surreptitiously brushing his lips and chin to check he hasn’t made a mess of himself before he goes in.

There is an elderly, grey-haired woman seated behind the circulation desk as he enters. She’s so thin Sam thinks one little breeze would knock her over, but you can never judge a person’s strength by their appearance. He’s had enough experience with that.

He offers a smile, she glares back, and his smile slips off his face. _Ooo-kay,_ he thinks as he turns to the directory, self-consciously running a hand over his hair just in case it’s sticking up everywhere and he’s looking scruffy or something. Or maybe she’s one of  those librarian’s; one who thinks nobody else should be touching the books but her. Great. He can still feel her glare on his back as he moves into the library proper, finding a directory computer and sitting himself down.

Quickly typing in several different search phrases, not one result is particularly helpful. But he doesn’t give up. If he did that after every hurdle in research, he would never produce any results for their hunts. So instead he stands and heads into the stacks, heading towards the section on Occult, and taking note of Religion. He’ll hit that area next.

Sometimes it’s just easier and faster to go straight to the source.

Because as much as he loves his laptop and tablet and the access they give him to so much material online, there’s nothing like holding the weight of an actual book in his hands; flipping the pages, reading the printed ink and absorbing the information they offer.

And Sam likes books. Which means he likes actual physical books. Call him a geek.

Though he really isn’t holding out much hope that he’ll find something that will offer him assistance in his search in a small town library that could explain Dean’s recent behaviour. But it doesn’t hurt to look. It’s why he’s here after all. And he’ll hit as many libraries as possible until he finds the answers he’s searching for.

_Maybe I should hit the psychology books too_ , he ponders, eyeing a sign for that section as he reaches the occult books. Traversing the small selection with his eyes, Sam shakes his head at what he sees; too recent, too Wicca.

An ominous gurgle erupts from Sam’s stomach that has nothing to do with hunger. He freezes; sudden nausea making him swallow heavily against the rising sensation of wanting to throw up. Saliva starts to build up in his mouth and it only takes Sam a second to realise it’s time to high-tail it to a bathroom so as not to give the woman at the desk a true reason to be glaring at him.

As quickly as he can manage, he hurry’s for the men’s restroom. Clamping a hand over his mouth as he enters, he shoulders open the nearest stall door, using his free but shaking hand to fumble the lock closed. He hastily twists around and drops to his knees, leaning over the potty not a moment too soon as half-digested double chocolate cookie and coffee forcefully ejects from his mouth.

He coughs, feels the tears start to trickle down his cheeks as his throat works hard to dislodge more of the clogged mess into the potty bowl, and his tummy muscles scream at him for the forceful spasms his heaving is producing.

Finally it stops, the nausea disappearing as swiftly as it overpowered him. Still kneeling, the small space allows Sam to lean back against the stall door, swallowing against his now burning throat. Digging out his water bottle, he’s grateful he bought it at the diner. He takes a swig, swishing it around his mouth before spitting it in the potty, while doing his best to avert his eyes from the mess already in the bowl.

Reaching out, he flushes the potty, trying to fight back the sob he feels rising from his chest as an overwhelming need for his brother lashes him. He flops back onto his butt, rattling the stall door as his back hits it and buries his head in his raised knees to conceal the cry escaping his lips. 

_Dean_ , his mind whimpers.

Biting at his bottom lip to keep from making a noise and feeling the tears leaking down his cheeks, Sam digs into his jeans pocket with a shaking hand, pulling out his phone. Raising his head a little, he swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand to clear his vision slightly as he pulls up Dean’s contact.

_NO_ _!!_ The independent part of his brain suddenly yells while his shaking finger hovers over the contact on his screen ready to swipe across to place the call. _You’re a big boy! If you do this Dean’s_ _NEVER_ _gonna let you out of his sight again!_

_NONONO! I WANT DEAN!!!_ The side of him currently at the fore of his mind and emotions screams back louder, the little boy seeking out big brother for comfort and reassurance.

_Gah! You ALWAYS want Dean!! Get your ass up off this god damn fucking floor and do what you came here to do first!_

Sam raises his hands to his head, pressing them against the sides as he gives it a shake.

_No, no, no…_

His brain is _not_ doing this.

He is _not_ arguing with himself.

It reminds him too much of the disjointedness that came with Lucifer hallucinations that had sailed him all the way into a mental institution. A situation he wouldn’t have survived without Cas taking Sam’s crazy into himself.

Though he does realise it wouldn’t have been needed without Cas’ actions in breaking the wall in the first place, but he’s forgiven those. He doesn’t think he would be on speaking terms with the former-angel now if he hadn’t.

This time it’s _his_ turn to help Cas. To help his brother. That’s the here and now. But he cannot function with two sides of him warring against each other …

_So both of you shut the hell up, deal with the fact I WANT my big brother, but I NEED to get this done too!_ He yells back.  

His mind goes blessedly, but eerily, silent. Then he feels a buzz through him and he feels that overpowering want for his brother lessen enough to join with the need to do his job. Those two sides of him having finally united in a shared goal and resonating encouragement.

And oh god, _I really am going crazy if I’m talking about sides of me as if their individually real._

_Shit._

Sam surges to his feet, using the stall walls to steady himself; it is passed time to get away from this craziness.

Slipping his phone back into his jeans, he sets his bottle of water to his lips again and swallows down a small mouthful. Just enough to ease his throat a little. He won’t chance taking more. Not until he knows his stomach has at least settled down completely. Dumping it back in his bag, he unravels a portion of toilet paper and briskly wipes it across his face to remove any residue of his tears.

Opening the stall door a moment later, Sam crosses over to the sinks and washes still trembling hands under the hot faucet, before switching to the cold and rinsing his face and neck with his hands. The mildly flushed face in the mirror reveals bloodshot eyes which is to be expected after the tears, and with the force his stomach contents had ejected from his body.

And Sam really wouldn’t be too concerned about that if he hadn’t been ill as recently as yesterday. But there was no throwing up yesterday, at all, and the fever _is_ gone. So… it has to be the other thing. The thing that has happened five times already since the casting of the spell. The thing where Sam throws up roughly fifteen to twenty minutes after eating, just like clockwork. Sam glances down at his watch.

Yep, right on schedule.

But he thought it had stopped; the last time it happened having been a couple days before they left the bunker.

That, or its punishment for the coffee.

He sighs, swiping his wet hand over his face once more before moving to the paper-towel dispenser and pulling out several to dry his face and hands.

Exiting the restroom, Sam makes his way back to the Occult section. Maybe another perusal will reveal something helpful, but again he’s not hopeful.

_Maybe I’m suddenly allergic to chocolate, or hell, coffee,_ Sam muses as his eyes rove over the book spines, before shaking his head at his own thought. He’s eaten both chocolate and drank coffee recently and independently of each other; he hadn’t thrown up either time.

_Body’s change_ , another thought flitters in. “But not in the space of a few days,” Sam murmurs out loud.

Of course it could have been an ingredient in either the cookie or coffee. But he doubts any of the ingredients share commonality with the foods he’d eaten the other five times he’s thrown up like this. And it isn’t every time he eats. He didn’t throw up after the nuggets and fries nor after the noodles last night.

Another sigh releases from his lips as he runs a hand through his hair. He decides to hit Religion and then find a table and set up his laptop. He can at least use the library’s Wi-Fi to get online while he’s here. And set about finding and changing the laptop’s administrative password while he’s at it.

His phone rings in his pocket before he hits the end of the stack. He digs it out, briefly taking in Dean’s name. As he answers, Sam has to clamp down on that crazy want to tell Dean he’s just thrown up, and his need to demand his brother come make it all better.

Because that’s just childish.

Being rocked to sleep in his big brother’s arms last night was childish enough.

Sam can deal with this himself, he has been for three weeks. Except that one time he embarrassedly threw up all over himself out on the green. And the past four days of course. 

“ _Which part of ‘you’re not to go anywhere alone’ did you not understand, Samuel?_ ” Dean demands the second Sam has his phone to his ear and before he can even open his mouth.

And even though he’s being scolded, happiness swells inside Sam at the sound of his big brother’s voice and he once again has to clamp down on his want and need to spill his guts. Though not literally this time.

“You were asleep, Dean,” Sam just hopes his brother doesn’t detect the slight shakiness in his voice. “I wanted to …”

“ _NOWHERE ALONE, SAM!_ ” Dean barks, his voice reverberating against Sam’s ear, causing Sam to wince and hold the phone slightly away from him as his brother continues to scold him. “ _You're damn lucky Cas tripped over his own goddamn feet and spotted your note before we came tearing after you!_ _Unless it was your intention for it to remain hidden on a chair under the damn table?!_ ”

“What?” No, he’d left the note _on_ the table. He’d made sure it could be seen on his way out the door … oh shit. “Okay, okay, would you shut up for a second, Dean,” Sam quickly interjects as loudly as he’ll let himself say without seeking trouble from the fierce lady at the circulation desk. He hears an angry huff of breath leave his brother on the other end and can practically feel the man’s glare. “Dean, look, I left the note _on_ the table, I swear! It must have fallen off in the breeze when I opened the door.”

“ _Well gee, Sam, that’s great,_ ” the sarcasm is rife in Dean’s tone, “ _thanks very much for the heart attack!_ _I'm still of half a mind to come tearing after you to tan your frigging hide just for that!"_

Sam smiles nervously when a woman near the opening of the stack turns to stare at him with shocked eyes as Dean's voice blares through the phone. Heat spreading across his cheeks, he ducks his head and hightails it deeper into the stacks where hopefully less eavesdroppers abound.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, speaking as he moves. “But, look, Dean, I get your protectiveness seems to have kicked into overdrive,” _something I’m desperately trying to figure out_ , Sam adds silently, “but you gotta give me some freedom here, man.” Sam is rather proud of the fact he managed to keep the exasperation out of his voice. The last thing he wants to do is sound like a whiny brat when he’s trying to get a point across. That won’t get him anywhere with his brother. “You and Cas can’t watch me every minute of the day.”

His brother is silent on the other end and Sam knows Dean’s brain is trying to come up with ideas as to how exactly he _can_ keep eyes on Sam twenty-four-seven. Sam is extra proud of himself when he neither huffs nor rolls his eyes at the notion.

“Dean.”

“ _Yeah, I know, okay_ ,” Dean’s voice is filled with his own frustration. “ _But bad shit usually happens when your outta my sight, Sammy_.”

“I’m just at the library, Dean. There’s, you know, normal people here, doing normal people things. I think I’ll be safe away from you and Cas for a few hours. And…” Sam frowns in thought “… I don’t think I’ve ever been attacked in a library before …”

“ _Nazi necromancer._ ”

“Well crap.” Sam had forgotten about that incident, and he’d really been aiming for the library as a safe place thing.

Dean snorts. Then sighs, and Sam can almost sense the wavering indecision. “ _Fine. You get two hours of freedom,_” Dean spits the word out like it’s a curse. Sam winces; immediately knowing that’s going to come back and bite him in the butt at some point. “ _But your ass is back in this motel room by that two hour mark, Sam, or I’ll come looking for you. And you really won’t like me if I have to do that, you understanding me?_”

Oh, Sam understands. And the library is way too public for Dean to make an appearance if Sam doesn’t do as asked. Because thanks to his note, he’s avoided punishment for this little journey, and he’d prefer for it to remain that way.

So as Sam dutifully responds to his brother’s wishes with a, “Yes, Dean,” a little balloon of achievement is inflating within him. Even though the two hour deadline only gives him roughly an hour and a half of research before he has to pack up and leave for the thirty minute walk back to the motel, he’ll most definitely take it. “Wait, are you gonna _be_ at the motel? Thought you and Cas were heading back to that farmhouse?”

“ _We are. It’ll take an hour tops. Then we need to go hire a car for Cas to get to Vancouver._ ”                                 

Sam frowns at the news. “I thought you said Kara’s been checking that out?”

“ _She is. She called while you were pulling a Great Escape …_ ”

“Dramatic much, Dean?” Sam rolls his eyes. It’s silent on the other end. “Um… please continue.”

" _Huh._ ”

“What?”

“ _Just sounds like someone’s worried about their behind. You being all polite with me an’ all._ ”

“No I’m not. I’m just …”

“ _Worried about getting another spanking on top of the one you’ve already earnt yourself?_ ”

Sam feels his eyes widen, that little balloon of achievement inside of him deflating rapidly. He’s getting a spanking? What for? Did he miss something? “I… but… I left a note, Dean. That’s the rule.”

“ _And I appreciate you following that rule, Sam. You did good there. But the fact still remains that you disobeyed me._ ”

“But I didn’t!”

“ _No? So telling you ‘nowhere alone’ doesn’t make any sense to you? You don’t recall the conversation we had in our kitchen before we even hit the road?”_

“Dean, that was like five or six days ago! And I’ve been sick since then. How am I meant to remember that?” Sam scoffs, hoping his brother doesn’t catch onto the lie.

_“Because I know you do.”_

Sam inwardly curses Dean’s stupid big brother super powers. “Well, that doesn’t… that… that …” he stumbles to a stop at hearing the familiar jingle of the Impala’s key against its keyring on the other end of the phone.

“ _Baby’s looking real impatient to come pick up her boy, Sam.”_

“Okay, yes, I remember,” he rushes out quickly.

“ _Remember what?_ ”

Sam huffs. He’s been pretty good at refraining from doing that this entire conversation so far and probably deserves a pat on the back for lasting this freaking long.

“ _Samuel._ ”

“Uh, well… you told me I’m not allowed to go off anywhere by myself.”

“ _And yet, knowing this,_ _you went and walked out the motel door by yourself, walked into town by yourself and currently stand in a library by yourself, and that doesn’t qualify as disobeying me, that about right, Sam?_”

Sam swallows and looks down at his boots, finding them particularly interesting right now as he refrains from adding, ‘I bought and drank a coffee all by myself, too’. He's fairly certain that answer won't go over all that well with his big brother right now. He’ll have to bide his time on that one. “Okay, I guess I did, a little …”

“ _A little…_ ” Dean snorts harshly and Sam just knows the man’s shaking his head. “ _You can thank Cas, by the way, for the fact I'm still at the motel and not standing right behind you, kid._ ”

Sam whips his head around to look behind him, he can't help it, and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't find Dean magically standing there.

“ _Oh you go right ahead and let that relief out, little boy. ‘Cause as soon as you’re butt’s back in this motel, you and I are gonna be having a long conversation about this._ ”

Sam unconsciously reaches back to cover his bottom. “Can't we, um, forgo that type of, um, _conversation_ , this time, De? I mean,” he hurries to continue, “I get it, I really do. I know I shouldn't be here by myself; I know I should've woken you up; I know …”

“ _… You’ll do exactly the same thing again in the next town you find a library,_ ” Dean finishes.

Sam winces. He has already told himself that he’ll hit every library he comes across if he has to in finding some answers, with or without Dean and Cas’ knowledge if necessary, so his brother isn't wrong on that score.

“You can't…” Sam surreptitiously glances around to make sure no one is in ear shot before carrying on at a whisper, “… spank me for something I _might_ do in the future. Or spank me twice …”

“ _I’m not gonna be spanking you for something you might do in the future, Sam,_” Dean interrupts sharply. “ _I’m gonna be spanking you for something you’ve done in the here and now. To prevent you from doing it in the future._ _Because I KNOW you, Sam. And if I don't spank you now, this is gonna happen again and again, kid. As to that second spanking…_ _that all depends on whether you can do as you’re told from here on out doesn’t it, Sam?_ ”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“ _No guessing about it, kid. You’ll do as you’re told or our conversation will be that much longer.” Dean reiterates, firmly. “Do you wanna tell me what you need to do to avoid that, Sam?”_

Sam scuffs the tip of his boot against the floor; never feeling more like a child then when asked to repeat instructions given to him when he’s in trouble. But he still does so without hesitation, wanting to be back in his big brother’s good books again. “Be back at the motel on time. And stay put in the library until it’s time to head out,” he adds for good measure, hoping it may stay Dean’s hand just a little. He really doesn’t want a second spanking.

_“Good boy. I’m happy you understand that, Sammy.”_

Sam’s tummy flutters happily at the praise and words sprout from his mouth before he can shut himself up, “Am I allowed to change the administrative password on the laptop, Dean?” Sam closes his eyes; he could kick himself. What the hell did he ask that for? He already knows the answer he’s going to get; the reason he was going to change it on the sly. God. He’s such an idiot.

“ _No. You’ll leave it as it is, Sam. You can access what you need to online. Save for porn. And you better not be watching that.”_

“I’m in a public library, Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes, even as he feels his cheeks heat. “And ‘m not a baby. I had a whole life that involved sex before somebody decided to turn back that clock, you know. And when did Dean Winchester turn into such a frigging prude about porn?”

Dean snorts. “ _Oh I ain’t never been a prude, Sammy. But I have my reasons._ ”

“And these reasons would be?”

“ _Sammy, tell me what a strap-on is?_ ”

“A what?”

“ _That would be my reason, kid._ ” Dean clears his throat and when he speaks his gruff voice is back to the all-business tone it has for hunting, rather than the one that indicates he’s dealing with little brother. _“Alright, listen, Kara thinks Rowena might be in Vancouver right now. Except we don’t exactly have photo evidence of the witch and she could have hired anybody that was a reasonable lookalike. From a distance …_ ”

“It could look like her to a stranger,” Sam fills in, shaking off the moroseness from being scolded.

“ _Yahtzee. Kara sent a photo to me, but it was just too blurry to give a positive ID, so Cas is gonna head up there to verify._ ”

“You know, I still think Cas should give his teleporting a go. I mean, I can handle the headache that’ll come with it. And if you hold onto me and Cas gets far enough away from me, then maybe …”

" _We’ve already had this discussion, Sam._ ”

“No, Dean. That wasn’t a discussion. That was you and Cas dismissing the idea entirely.”

“ _And with good reason! Dammit, Sam! You’ve passed out twice now from these powers, once for Cas just summoning your damn sippy-cup! And you’re harping on about him zapping his way over to Vancouver. I swear that hit to the head you took a couple weeks back did some damage this time._ ”

“S’not a sippy cup,” Sam mutters quietly.

“ _Not the point, Samuel! We are NOT risking your life to satisfy your fucking curiosity. Cas is driving, end of._ ”

“Then at least go with him, Dean. You've done the trip before, you'd cut it down to half the time. And probably be back before you even should've got there."

" _I think we need to work on your definition of alone, Sam,_" Dean snaps. " _Letting you outta my sight for over eight hours is a big difference from the two I’m giving you. And you better make damn good use of that time because it ain’t happening again anytime soon._ ”

“Dean, you CAN’T watch me twenty-four-seven!” Sam reiterates his earlier point at his big brother’s dogmatic tone.

“ _Sam, mine and Cas’ powers are knocking you on your ass. We have no clue what they’re doing to you on the inside, or if there still affecting you when Cas and I don’t even use ‘em …_ ”

“Which is exactly why we should test …”

“ _You know what,_ ” Dean’s voice cuts in, tone now harder than steel, “ _I don’t wanna hear one more word outta you on this topic, Sam, you hear me?_ ”

Oh hell, Sam has heaps more he can say on the subject, but he refrains. Because if he carries on arguing he knows he can kiss goodbye to this little adventure in Redfern Grove’s library. His butt will be planted back in the motel quicker than he can blink and it could be several more towns before Dean might relent again. Not to mention he’ll be far closer to that second spanking than he ever wants to get.

“ _I asked if you heard me, Samuel._ ”

“Yeah, Dean, I heard you.”

“ _You better._ ” His brother is silent down the phone and Sam can’t yet bring himself to fill that silence. And just as he’s thinking he should hang up a moment later, his brother speaks. “ _Look, Sammy… don’t worry about Cas, alright. He’s a big boy and can take care of himself. This is just a straightforward recon mission._ ”

“Did you really just say straightforward? That _always_ jinxes things, Dean.”

“ _Two hours, Sam._ ”

“From which starting point exactly?”

“ _Clock starts the second I cut this call._ ”

“Okay.” At least Dean is allowing that. His brother could have easily given him from the moment Sam left the motel, or reached the library. Either way it would have left only about ten or twenty minutes on the clock and definitely not enough time to research. “Hey, Dean?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Why the car hire?” he asks quietly, eyes flickering around. “We don’t usually go that route.”

“ _Because Cas getting arrested for grand theft auto trying to cross the Canadian border isn’t something we can afford, Sammy._ ”

“Right. Yeah.” Sam doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that. “So legitimate hire it is.”

“ _Exactly._ ”

“Hey, Dean?”

“ _What, Sammy?_ ”

“Thanks.”

Sam hears Dean sigh through the phone and he can easily picture his brother swiping a hand over his face. “ _Yeah, whatever. Go do your geek thing._ ” 

Dean hangs up and Sam breathes a sigh of relief as he quickly inputs an alarm into his phone for an hour and half's time. He had managed not to blab his mouth about the sickness, and by some miracle he’d won himself a round of independent Sammy. Granted, he’s also earnt himself a spanking, but still… he gives a brief jab of victory to the air with his fist.

He’ll accept a semi win-win.

And, best of all, Dean hadn’t asked what Sam was researching. Though his brother must know it’s something to do with the spell. They haven’t really been researching anything else currently.

With the euphoria of his victory, Sam heads back towards religion, which is conveniently next door to psychology.

It can’t hurt to have a look, right?

 

**#SPN#**

 

Cutting the call with his baby brother, Dean glances at his watch, taking in the time and sets an alarm on his phone for ten-fifteen, the two hour deadline for Sam to have his ass back in this room.

“So that’s it? We just leave Sam out there _alone_?”

Dean roughly drags a hand down his face, again, as he dumps his phone onto the table beside him. “What more do you want me to do, Cas?” Dean allows a sigh to release from him as he turns his gaze to his partner leaning against the edge of the kitchenette work surface; the man’s arms crossed over his chest, and eyes still storming blue. “We can’t keep Sam locked up in our need to protect him. There’s gonna be times when he’s out of our sight, whether we like it or not. And if you had an issue with the way I handled him you could have jumped in. Phone was on speaker. The floor was open.”

“I might have if I thought Sam would listen to me.”

“Sam does listen to you,” Dean frowns. “You wouldn’t have been able to calm him down the other morning when he was crying if he didn’t. And yeah, he might be a stubborn shit who has trouble following the rules sometimes, man, but he respects you enough to listen to you.”

“Then perhaps I should have. We may have already been on the way to collecting him.”

“Cas, he needs this,” Dean tells him, though the words leave a nasty aftertaste in his mouth.

“Needs this?” Cas scoffs harshly, glaring at him. “He’s a little boy, Dean!”

“No he’s not!” Dean growls back, shooting to his feet. “He’s a grown fucking man!”

“Really?!” Cas interrupts sharply. “He’s all grown up now is he? No longer needing big brother to comfort him when he’s crying or sick. To read him a bedtime story and tuck him in. To take him to task for his behaviour? Is that what you _truly_ think, Dean?”

“No!” Dean yells, slamming his palm into a wall and ignoring the sting it ignites, along with the shallow dent he made in the plaster. “Sam’s a kid!” he grounds out, the thought of Sam no longer needing him feeling like a spear to his heart that Cas seems intent to drive all the more fucking deeper. “He's always been a kid! And will always be a fucking kid! Just a baby! That what you wanna hear?! Dammit! Why d’you have to push all the fucking time?”

“Because it’s about time you _fully_ admit to yourself that Sam is only a child, Dean, and should be treated as such. His very soul is proof of that.”

“I know that already!”

“And yet you are willing to leave him alone out there when it is far too dangerous!”

Dean opens his mouth, more than ready to state Sam is a trained hunter, when he snaps his mouth closed again, the cogs turning within his mind as he stares at his partner. “You’re afraid for him.” He states, frowning, and wondering what the hell is causing a reaction like this from Cas.

Because Dean has seen Cas worried before, but they now know Sammy’s safe at the library. (Even if Dean doesn’t like it one fucking bit.) But why is Dean seeing downright fear in his partner’s eyes? It surprisingly calms the roiling anger in Dean’s veins and he steps closer to the man as a spark of knowing ignites in his mind.

“What happened in this dream of yours, Cas?”

Cas’ eyebrows arc in surprise. “Nothing,” the man responds, the hand on Dean’s chest pushing him away slightly, which is just proving Dean’s theory that this behaviour has something to do with the man’s dream.

And normally Dean wouldn’t push for details. Each one of them is entitled to keep their dreams and nightmare’s private. Unless it impacts their daily waking lives. Like it is Cas right now. Or causes them to have fucking nosebleeds.

“Cas… c’mon, man.”

“What bearing could my dream possibly have on our current situation, Dean?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. Because out of the two of us, you’re usually the calm, rational one that is calming _me_ down.”

Cas’ adam’s apple bounces beneath his skin as he swallows heavily, his shoulder’s slumping. “It was a recurring dream. One I have experienced many a time since the spell to cure you was cast,” he explains quietly.

Dean nods his understanding; not one of them has been saved from dreams and nightmares since that day. Before the guilt can burrow its way in, Dean nods again for Cas to go on.

“There is a child. Our child.” Dean blinks at the notion but remains quiet, just waiting for Cas to carry on. “The child is taken from us. Drawn into a vortex and… and we can do nothing.”

Dean watches the man before him trying in vain to blink the tears out of his eyes. He can tell there’s something else Cas is not telling him, but he’s not going to push. “Hey.” Dean leans forward, kissing away the tears from his former-angel’s cheeks. “It’s okay, Cas,” he whispers. “It’s just… a dream causing you to project your fear for the child within it onto Sammy.”

And Dean can't promise no one is going to take Sam because it has happened on far too many fucking occasions. But whoever gets it into their heads that it would be a good idea better pick a different hemisphere if they still want to exist after Dean retrieves his kid. And then Dean will hunt them down anyway and make sure they never come into existence ever again.

Cas ducks his head down to stare at the floor. “Then why do I feel as if I cannot breathe, Dean?” he asks quietly. “Why is there a weight on my chest that is slowly going to crush me if I do not see my little one soon?”

Dean cannot help the small curve of his lips at hearing Cas calling Sammy that, staking his claim on Dean’s kid. Though he’s not sure why that pleases him. Because if anyone else were to try it Dean would be pissed as all hell. But with Cas... it’s just different; he doesn’t feel like he would have to fight to retain his position within Sammy’s life where Cas is concerned.

“I think that’s what the shrinks like to call separation anxiety, Cas,” Dean explains. “Welcome to the human race.”

Cas snaps his head up to stare at Dean incredulously. “You have felt this?”

Dean snorts humourlessly; having far too many memories of times he has come under that crushing weight. “Just every time the kid disappears,” he however responds, knowing Cas needs to know he isn't alone in this dose of ocean-size reality of human life. “Or he goes in the opposite direction on a hunt and I don’t have eyes on him.”

_Or dies._ Dean swallows sharply as too many images of dead baby brother assault his mind unbidden. He quickly shoves them away before that vice can get its claws into Dean’s own chest and destroy him.

“It cannot be healthy.”

“I’m sorry… you _have_ met me and Sam, right?”

“I am acquainted.” Dean snorts softly, brushing his lips against Cas’ to calm him down further. “How have you dealt with it all these years?” Cas murmurs against him.

Dean pulls back and looks into less stormy fear-filled blue eyes. “I learnt to control it before it controlled me. I’m a protective person, Cas. That’s _never_ gonna change. And my baby brother will _always_ top every list. But Sammy would be living in a bubble if I allowed the fear of him getting hurt to rule me.” Dean sighs softly, telling that niggling portion of his brain happy with the bubble idea to shut up. “I’m in no way perfect, Cas. My control slips. And it has been slipping more often than not lately where protecting Sammy’s concerned.” It’s the only apology Dean can offer for blowing up at Cas earlier when the realisation hit that Sam was gone. “And however much I would love to keep the kid somewhere he can't get hurt, it’s not an option. That action in itself would be hurting Sam.”  

“I just want to keep him safe.”

“I know. And we will.”

“My heart, my mind, still thinks we should go and get him.”

“We have to give him this, Cas. This small amount of _freedom_.” The word twists on Dean’s tongue in the same way it did when he was speaking to his kid.   

Cas raises an eyebrow and accuses, “You don’t want him out there by himself any more than I do.”

“Told you. I’m not perfect,” Dean reiterates with a one shouldered shrug. “Sam’s okay. He’s a trained hunter, Cas. And a damn good one at that. If he thinks anything’s outta sorts he’ll call. But right now we got a job to do.” Dean crosses back to the table and picks up his gun, slipping it into his back waistband. “And besides,” he says, turning back to Cas, “outta the three of us, who’s oversized brain is more likely to figure all this crazy shit out?”

One corner of Cas’ mouth curls up ever so slightly into a smile. “Sam.”

“Sam,” Dean repeats.

“I still don’t like it,” Cas grumbles, fingers fidgeting with the handle of one of Sammy’s sippy cups sitting on the side.  

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You think I ever have?”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Forty-five minutes after starting in on his research Sam decides it _can_ hurt to look as he sits back with an aggravated sigh, dropping his pen and rubbing his temples to try and relieve the building headache.

Shortly after his brother’s phone call, Sam had set up at a table, one sitting the farthest away from the grumpy old librarian’s desk. His laptop sits in front of him, several windows open on screen and a selection of psychology books spread around him.

Though a fat lot of good they’ve been.

The books on religion had nothing more than he’s already previously read thanks to Pastor Jim, Bobby’s extensive and varied collection, and the Men of Letters library. He had thought the psychology books may assist him after reading a few interesting tidbits, but the most relevant answers he could find were separation anxiety disorder and co-dependency.

Which, unfortunately, he’s pretty sure he and Dean have more than likely suffered with both of those, on and off, for years anyway. Sam definitely had the former when he was younger. And more than one supernatural being has deluded to the latter over the years.

So, Sam has absolute bubkis; literally nothing more than he already knew. Which at this point in time is jack-shit. Seriously, he has no more clue now as to what could be going on with his brother than he did before he started reading these psychology books.

And he doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand why an answer isn’t popping out of all this research. He’s trawled through so many articles, spells and the like. You name it, Sam’s read it.

Online. From scrolls. From books.

The spell he used just doesn’t seem to exist anywhere else other than the book he found it in amongst the Men of Letters Archive.

Which means it’s looking more and more likely that Rowena is probably the only one who can help.

Sam sighs, staring down at the open page of a psychology book, the words blurring together. He snaps the stupid thing closed.

Maybe he just doesn’t have an eye for psychology.

Or human behaviour in general for that matter, having spent too long analyzing the behaviour’s of monsters instead.

But he _knows_ Dean.

He shouldn’t need a book to tell him how to analyze Dean’s recent behaviour.

But maybe that’s where he’s going wrong. Maybe he should just observe and figure things out that way.

_But what if I can’t observe because I’m too busy trying to fight my own stupid frigging emotions that are flying all over the place whenever I’m around Dean? Dammit._

His phone vibrates on the table. He snatches it up and doesn’t recognise the number, but he presses his thumb against the round red button on his screen anyway before setting the phone to his ear. It will at least break up the monotony of staring at useless crap.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, Sam._ ”

“Charlie!” Sam exclaims with relief. “Where have you been? I've been trying to get in contact with you for the past three weeks. You okay? Those guys still following you?”

“ _Nah, managed to evade those d-bags in Portugal. Unfortunately I had to ditch my phones and tablet before_ _scooting across to Hamburg to get a plane home. I just got to the cabin you said to get to. Got a few bumps and bruises, but I’m good, Sam, promise._ ”

“Jesus, Charlie.” Sam runs his free hand over his face, guilt eating at his tummy. “I never should have sent you after the book …”

“ _Hey, don’t do that. I made the decision to go after it, not you, Sam._ ”

"As to that, please tell me you got my messages, Charlie. My email, anything.”

“ _I got them, Sam. I just couldn’t reply for obvious reasons._ ”

“So you didn’t get the book?” Even as he asks, Sam isn’t sure he wants the answer.

Charlie had gone after the _Book of the Damned_ months ago as a possible means to finding a cure for Dean. The first email Sam had read after curing his brother was Charlie informing him she had found the book’s location in a monastery in Spain. But she’d unfortunately caught herself a couple of ‘southern fried d-bags’ when she paid too much attention to it, so she had to scram for a bit, but she’d go back for the book.

Sam had immediately fired off text messages and emails to the self-confessed nerd, warning her not to get the book and telling her what to do to ditch the assholes on her tail. Unfortunately, he’s also been secretly hoping he could get his hands on the book. It might hold answers to the spell he used.

“ _No, I didn’t get it._ ” Sam sighs, nods; it is better this way. Charlie’s safe. And Sam won’t have to try hiding the book from Dean and Cas. “ _But… I thought that's what you wanted,_ ” Charlie continues, sounding confused and clearly having heard his sigh. “ _Right? Not to get it anymore. Because I'm telling you, Sam, there's bad bad bad bad bad mojo surrounding that book. I mean old and scary. I left it where it was. Think I dodged a bullet on this one, too._ ”

“You did the right thing walking away, Charlie. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” _Or worse_ , he thinks, his chest tightening painfully with the thought.

“ _Okay, that's good. Because I think Dean would've killed me if I'd given it to you._ ”

“Not you too,” Sam grumbles under his breath.

“ _What?_ ”

“Nothing.”

“ _O-kay. So… is it true, Sam? The Mark of Cain is gone? Like, completely gone? Dean’s one hundred percent mark free?_” Her voice is filled with awe, but heaps more hope. 

Hope that Dean’s back to normal; that he won’t turn around and attack her again. Even if she had forgiven him pretty much straight away after the Dark Charlie fiasco. Much like Sam, too, has forgiven his brother’s actions towards him under the influence of the Mark.

“Yeah, it’s fully gone.”

“ _Well go you, Firecracker!_ ”

Sam sighs, feeling fresh tears building in his eyes and brushes at them angrily with his fingers. God, not now! He doesn’t deserve anyone’s praise. He screwed up. Royally. Whatever it was that he had done wrong with that spell is affecting his brother and Cas. In more ways than them both now being humans with powers at the opposite end of the supernatural spectrum. The reason Sam is here alone in this library.

“ _Sam? Hey, you there? What’s wrong? This is good, right?_ ” Charlie’s voice is soft, reassuring, which only makes Sam feel even worse.

“Yeah, I know. It’s …” Sam trails off, his throat closing up.

He raises his free hand to his mouth, thumb resting against his bottom lip before he realises what he’s doing, where he is, and snaps it away. He quickly shoves the hand under his thigh, sitting on it to prevent a repeat.  

“ _Hey, kiddo, you know you can always talk to me._ ”

“Charlie …” Sam sighs, briefly brushing his cheeks against his shoulders, swiping away the moisture.

Maybe Charlie’s right.

Maybe he should talk to her.

He needs to talk to _somebody_ about this, short of going to Dean and Cas with it. Something he isn’t ready to do just yet.

But Charlie… she’s as close as family. He knows Dean views her as a little sister. Maybe she can help; give him a little insight. A different perspective.

Because his brain is fried.

He swallows against a tight throat, his voice a little hoarse as he gives her the overall gist of what’s been happening since the spell’s casting.

Charlie's quiet when he finishes. He hears a soft sigh of breath before she speaks again. “ _So… Dean's being uber-protective and strict with you?_ ”

“Mostly, yeah.”

_“And… how is that any different to Dean's normal behaviour, Sam? I mean… I like to think I know you guys pretty well by now, and honestly, all I'm getting from your observations is that Dean's just… being Dean._”

“That's what I was afraid of,” Sam murmurs.

“ _What d'ya mean?_ ”

“I don't know. Maybe I'm just making too much of all of it, Charlie,” Sam rubs at his forehead, thumb finding its way to his lips again. Dammit! He shoves the hand back under his thigh. “Maybe you're right and Dean's just being his usual self, it's just …”

“ _You’re not sure._ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Sam, send me the spell you used and I'll see if I can find anything more on it …”_

“I’ve looked everywhere, Charlie,” Sam sighs, a hint of defeat creeping in. “I don’t know if there is actually anything left to find.”

_“It still can't hurt to get fresh eyes on it, yeah?_ ”

Sam sighs. “I guess. But you just got back, Charlie. You should rest.”

“ _Sam, I’m sitting on my butt. I’m resting. I want to do this. Please. Let me do this for Dean. And Castiel, who I have yet to meet still by the way. Is that gonna happen someday soon? Anyway…_” Sam smiles lightly, picturing her shaking her head of red hair as she gets back on topic. _“… Two pairs of eyes are better than one. Though, Sam, does…_ ” He frowns at the nervousness creeping into her voice. _“… Does Dean know where I’ve been? About the book? Have you told him?_ ”

Sam winces. That would explain the nerves. “No. And for both our sakes we don’t _ever_ want him finding out.” Because if his brother ever found out Sam had let Charlie go halfway across the world after the Book of the Damned alone, his butt wouldn’t be leaving the bunker for a year. Once Dean was done blistering it, of course.  

“ _Oh, I’m doubly-down with that idea, kiddo. I love my video games._ ”

Sam snorts softly as he remembers overhearing Dean promising to take Charlie’s beloved video games away from her if he ever had to dish out punishment to the little sister he never wanted, but had grown to see and love as a sister anyway. Dean had even thanked her for providing him with the information while they were out getting Charlie an FBI approved suit.

Charlie had rolled her eyes and jokingly called Dean a dominant bastard.

Dean had shrugged and told her seriously, “I do what’s necessary for those I love, kiddo.”

Then it had been Dean’s turn to roll his eyes as he found himself with an armful of Charlie. But he’d wrapped her in his arms tightly, chin resting atop her head. Sam had felt a twinge of jealousy flash through him at how easily and strongly his big brother returned her embrace when Sam rarely got a hug out of his brother. Not half a day later he had been surprised by those strong arms pulling him into a tight hug of his own.

Sam cringes lightly, also remembering the conversation only cropped up because Charlie had witnessed Sam getting his butt swatted earlier in the day. Which was rude of his brother to dish out considering Sam was sick at the time. Disobeying an order shouldn’t count in the requiring of punishment department when the one doing the disobeying is sick. But he thinks Dean must have skipped over that or scratched it out from that invisible big brother handbook of his.  

“You might not wanna stash any in your room at the bunker if you wanna avoid that outcome, Charlie,” Sam chuckles lightly, feeling a little better now that he’s talked it out with someone.

“ _But then I’ve gotta lug them with me every time I come stay,_ ” she grumbles, “ _or we won’t have anything to play. Huh, that rhymed._ ” Sam snorts. “ _Plus it wouldn’t be fair. I mean, you can’t exactly remove your cutie-patootie butt now, can ya, Sam,_ ” she teases and he feels his face heat.

“Shuddup, Charlie.”

She laughs. “ _All right, I’m out. Stay out of trouble, bitch. And send me the spell, Sam. This place does have Wi-Fi, right? ‘Cause my service isn’t working._ ”

“Err, it might,” Sam winces. “I know I set up a couple of Uncle Bobby's cabins for him, but I can't remember if the one you're at was on that list, so it might still be old fashioned dial-up.”

“ _Oh pants. Well, I’ll check it out. And fix it if it’s not._ ”

Charlie ends the call and Sam shakes his head, a smile on his lips as he sets his phone back on the table. Glancing at the time on his laptop, he only has a few minutes before he should head out if he wants to get back to the motel on time.

Which, hell yes, he does.

Dean’s hand smarts. And though Sam’s most definitely not looking forward to what will happen when he gets in the room, sitting comfortably will definitely not be an option if a second spanking gets dished out.

Closing his several open windows, he instead opens his email. Typing out a quick message to Charlie, he attaches both the scanned copy of the original and the translation of the spell and sends it, hoping she’ll be able to retrieve it with little fuss. Though its Charlie he’s talking about, she’s an electronic whizz.

Reaching out to shut the screen of his laptop, a shiver suddenly passes through him and he feels not only the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end but his arm hair as well. And having been a hunter for as long as he has, he knows it's a good indication something supernatural is here in the library that shouldn’t be.

A sensation of ice sliding down Sam’s spine causes another shiver and… Sam doesn’t know _how..._ but he could swear he’s sensing a demon.

Which makes absolutely no sense. Because he couldn't even do that when he had demon blood pulsing through his veins. He could only smell the blood; like when famine made a play. But Sam’s no longer infected with that evil. At least that’s the hope. There isn’t exactly a test. He swallows back the bile wanting to climb up his throat at the fear the thought alone invokes.

He doesn’t have time to worry about that.

Sam surreptitiously tracks his eyes around the library to note if anyone is watching him out of the corner of their eyes or just blatantly staring as demons are prone to do. He sees nor feels any eyes on him which only indicates one thing; the demon isn’t here yet.

But it’s powerful and strong. Sam raises his eyes to the library’s ceiling lights flickering above him.

And incoming fast.

So fast it’ll give Sam no time to make a retreat to somewhere less crowded before it hits. Or even get up off his freaking chair. And the fact he'd completely forgotten to bring the demon knife in his rush to get out of the room. At least he has his gun, but it'll be useless against a demon. God, Sam's really not winning in the staying out of trouble with his brother department.

“Hello, Moose.”

Despite having the ambiguous knowledge of the approaching demon’s presence, Sam still jumps at the sound of Crowley’s raspy voice behind him. He moves to swiftly rise from his chair, but a force on his shoulders slams him back down into it. He grunts, the chair almost giving way beneath him. He tries struggling against the hold but he’s held tight.

He glares at the self-proclaimed King of Hell as the demon rounds the table to stand across from Sam. He’s really not in the mood to be dealing with Crowley’s shit right now. And aside from already wanting the King of Hell to burn for getting Dean caught up with the Mark of Cain to begin with, the demon has just destroyed any chances of Sam being granted even an ounce of independence from his big brother’s rediscovered control.

Crowley snaps his fingers and Sam watches horrified as the grumpy old lady at the circulation desk slumps down over the high desk in front of her, eyes closed. Others drop around him, sprawling on the floor, slumping against stacks, computers and even other people.

“Crowley, what the hell?” Sam barks, renewing his struggle against the demon’s hold. “They weren’t hurting you!”

“Oh relax,” Crowley waves away Sam’s concern as he sits down in the chair opposite Sam and swings his feet up onto the table, depositing his phone onto the table just in front of him. “They’re unconscious, not dead.” Sam raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Promise,” Crowley smirks.

Sam’s eyes narrow, not trusting the demon one iota, and he half turns his gaze to a man on the floor ten feet away from him. He watches the guy’s chest; it rises and falls as if in sleep. Sam relaxes minutely and returns his full attention back to Crowley.

“What the fuck do you want, Crowley?”

“Such a potty mouth,” Crowley gasps, hand going to his chest in fake horror. “Dean wouldn’t be impressed to hear it, I bet. He might have to smack your bottie again.”

Sam feels his cheeks heat. How the hell could Crowley know Dean…? Oh god… “Stay. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Head. Crowley.” Sam grits out through his teeth, slamming walls down over his mind, his brain catching up with the memory that demons like Crowley can read surface thoughts.

And Sam no longer has the protection tattoo to guard against that power.    

“Oh believe me, Moose, there’s a lot more I’d rather be doing than reading your pathetic mind.”

“Crowley,” Sam growls, “restore these people and get lost.”

“Nope. Can’t do that. We need to chat. Alone.”

“You know there’s easier ways to do that,” Sam’s eyes flick down to his own phone then over to Crowley’s phone resting on the library table in front of the King of Hell. “You do have my number.”

“And I would have used it if I actually wanted to have this little chat with _you_ , Samantha. You still want to kill me after all. But seen as you’re lit up like a Christmas tree while your brother and the angel curiously can’t seem to be found by any channels, including this,” Crowley gestures at the phone, “I’m left with little choice.”  

Sam maintains his glare as he absorbs that piece of information, storing it away to analyse more closely later. But it’s good to know the demon and angel warding they have set up in the motel is actually working with the few added extras he’d found from the Men of Letters sigils a year ago and rarely been able to put into practice. No demon or angel can pinpoint their exact location within a five mile radius.

Of course that would be all well and good if Dean and Cas were actually _in_ the motel, but Sam knows they’re not. Or at least Cas isn't.

And as much as Sam likes to think of Crowley as being an idiot, he isn’t. Crowley’s read his and Dean’s history thanks to Chuck’s books; used the knowledge to kill people he and Dean previously saved. Crowley knows where they stay when they get to a town and this place only has two motels. That doesn’t take too many brain cells on the King of Hell’s part to figure out.

So what’s he playing at now?

Dean and Cas have no protective sigils on their person keeping them from being detected by demons – though that would be a good idea – so why can’t Crowley find them? Even by phone. Would that mean their…

No. Uh-uh, no. No way in hell. They’re not. _Shut up_ , Sam harshly tells his mind, because he can’t even … “Stay away from my brother and Cas, Crowley.”

“Isn't that Squirrel’s usual line, Moose?” Crowley smirks, dropping his feet down from the table and stands, buttoning his black overcoat. “Now where _is_ big brother?”

Sam stares at Crowley. He had just given the demon vague credit for not being an idiot and now here he is asking Sam something he’s never in his life going to spill his guts on. He narrows his eyes. “What are you after?”

“I thought that would be obvious,” Crowley rolls his eyes. “What I’ve been _hunting_ these past months.”

“You mean what your demons have been _ineffectively_ hunting,” Sam points out.

“Semantics,” Crowley waves a hand again, brushing Sam’s observation aside. “Why would I engage all my own personal power on the search for one witch when I have an army to do it for me? But as you say, the minions have been doing an… ineffective job of it. And that’s where you jack-arses come in.”

Sam refrains from rolling his eyes. “Let me guess, you’re minions informed you we just missed her by an hour at most. Probably closer than your demons have got in months. So you figure you’ll use _us_ to do the job they can’t manage.”

“Correct. You’ll draw her out and hand her over to me.”

Sam waits for more but none seems forthcoming. "Why exactly would we do that?" Sam questions, especially since their already hunting her down anyway for their own purposes. But he wants to understand Crowley’s incentive here, aside from wanting to torture and kill his own mother. No matter how much of a witch she is.

Crowley blinks at him as if he's stupid. "You, Squirrel and the angel get to live another day, Moose. When did that not become an issue?"

“Roundabout the time your crown lost its pointy little ends and you became useless. Because let’s face it, Crowley. _If_ you could kill us, you would've done it already. But maybe you have gone soft like Mommy Dearest thinks you have.”

Crowley’s eyes flare red and Sam has the good sense to shut his mouth. Maybe mentioning Rowena like that wasn’t the best of choices, but he knows how much hatred Crowley has for the witch and if he has to use it to get under Crowley’s skin he will. He just wasn’t aware Crowley was back to full-on red-eyed demon since the blood ritual that had weakened the bastard.

A loud crack steals across the library with a blinding echo and Sam cries out in pain as burning fire lances across his left forearm. He instinctively wants to move his right hand to cradle it, but bound in Crowley’s hold as he is, is preventing that. All he can do is grit his teeth against the pain, shove back the tears that want to rise and glare at the demon before him.

“What the hell, Crowley?” Sam snaps from between his teeth.

Crowley glares, his eyes still blood-red as he telekinetically shoves the table out of his way, Sam’s laptop and notes going with it, and invades Sam’s personal space. Sam can only sit there, shoving away the burst of fear wanting to invade his body. Crowley’s clearly fully juiced again now, he can do anything to Sam in a blink of an eye and Sam… he can’t fucking move.

“There’s about two-hundred and six bones in your body, Bullwinkle. Some a damn sight more giant than really necessary, but that just means there’s more mass to be broken and shattered,” Crowley snarls. “And I can do that…” he jabs harshly at Sam’s broken arm with a finger and a muscle in Sam’s taut jaw bounces as pain shoots across his arm, “… to every single one of them whenever I want.” Crowley’s eyes seep back to the brown of the possessed corpse, and he takes a step back. Sam, however, doesn’t relax. “So you’re going to run along to your big brother now, Samantha. You’re going to tell him he hunts down the witch and hands her _directly_ over to me… or this will happen again, and one broken bone in his baby brother’s body will be the least of his problems. Actually …” a slow smirk crawls its way across Crowley’s lips, and Sam has to bite back the fear creeping forwards. “… I think I’ll tell him myself.”

Crowley snaps his fingers.

Sam’s surroundings disappear in a rush only to reappear a second later. He instinctively reaches out and grabs hold of a vertical beam with both hands as he wobbles on his feet, a cry releasing from his throat when pain sears through his broken arm at the movement.

Biting his lip to try stemming the pain and resting his forehead against the beam, Sam waits a moment until the pain is dialled back to a just-about manageable level before he raises his head to survey his new surroundings.

And quickly wishes he hadn’t bothered as he realises he’s at least sixty feet above the ground …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. So, I’ve always seen Charlie as older than Sam, even from the beginning. So even though we now know she’s younger than both Sam and Dean, she sits in-between them in this story.   
> 2\. At the end of episode “There’s No Place Like Home” when Sam and Charlie discuss going after the Book of the Damned – within the realm of this story Dean and Charlie had the chat about forgiveness etc, but Dean isn’t aware Charlie was going after the Book, only that she was heading out to help.  
> 3\. Hope you enjoyed my wonderful readers and don’t hate me for that little cliffy hehehe – see you in the comments :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I know there are at least a couple of you still out there and hanging in there for this chapter. And well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Sorry about that. I have had trouble with this chapter which is stupid when I knew exactly what I wanted to write. But every time I’d sit my butt down to do so, nada! My muse wanted to focus on snippets of future chapters instead. And honestly, it also stems from getting new hearing aids and having to acclimate myself to the sounds of the world around me again. Don’t get me wrong, it’s frigging awesome and amazing!! It’s just been difficult trying to readjust my concentration after seven years of limited sound that has seen me living more in my head than the outside world. But you know what, many people don’t even get to have the chance to hear again. So I count myself as exceptionally lucky :) #AKF #LYF #IaE
> 
> Thank you to all who have left Kudos, bookmarked and comments so far, you have no idea how much it helps to hear from you all :)
> 
> Also a huge, HUGE, thank you to ereynolds for all the support, encouragement and inspiration she has given me :) Go #TeambabySammy (thanks for that Mock :)) 
> 
> Okay, so I've jabbered on long enough. Here it is and hopefully it turns out to be worth the long wait.

**THEN**

_Biting his lip to try stemming the pain and resting his forehead against the beam, Sam waits a moment until the pain is dialled back to a just-about manageable level before he raises his head to survey his new surroundings._

_And quickly wishes he hadn’t bothered as he realises he’s standing at least sixty feet above the ground …_

**NOW**

 

After an hour of thorough searching of the farmhouse, its immediate grounds and its small barn, Dean and Cas found all areas clean of any further magic traps or nasty surprises Rowena might have felt the need to leave behind. Now the two of them are back in the Impala. The ride into town filled with the same uncomfortable silence that had permeated the air through the majority of their investigation. In no small part thanks to flaring tempers… 

_“Cas! Calm the hell down. I can feel you tingling at the back of my fucking head. And I swear to God if Sam suffers any pain because you can't control your fucking powers I'm gonna knock you the fuck out!” Dean stresses bluntly._

_Cas stares at him surprised before nodding sharply. Closing his eyes, the man takes several deep breaths and Dean feels that irritation at the back of his mind dissipate._

_“Thank you.”_

_“You really should cut down on the amount of profanity sprouting from your mouth, Dean,” Cas states, turning away to continue their investigation into every nook and cranny of the farmhouse._

_“Seriously?” Dean scoffs. “You wanna lecture me on my swearing right now, Cas?”_

_Cas rounds back on him. “Yes, actually. The more you limit it in everyday occurrence, the less chance you speak it around Sam.”_

_“Sam’s not here, Cas.”_

_“And whose fault is that?!” Cas snaps. “Who let him stay at the library alone when he should be here with us?!”_

_“Sam wouldn’t even be in here with us anyway!” Dean shoots back. “He’d’ve been left in the car a hundred feet from this fucking property! Cause I wouldn’t for one second let him set foot in this place again without knowing that some remnant of Rowena’s fucking spell isn’t hanging around! And you and me both would’ve been okay with that, Cas! So don’t give me fucking shit about letting him stay behind!”_

_“Better he be protected in a car you’ve protected through the roof than be alone at the library where anything could happen, Dean!”_

_“Fuck, Cas, you’re ain’t even listening to me right now! Go investigate the fuck upstairs and calm the fuck down! And stop asking me to change the way I fucking speak while you’re at it!”_

_Cas’ lips thin. His eyes narrow. And Dean is expecting to get a mouthful back, but instead Cas just spits, “Fine,” and stamps his way up the stairs, ensuring his boots slam down on every step._

_“If you fall through those things don’t come crying to me!”_

_“Wouldn’t dream of it!”_

_Dean’s boot connects sharply with a table leg. It snaps in half and for half a second the table hovers with only two legs. Then the already damaged piece of furniture topples to the floor with such a crash he is half hoping Cas – pissed as he is – will charge back down the stairs to find out what happened._

_However Cas does not show and Dean’s anger dissipates as quickly as it flared at the other man. He sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair._

_“Fuck.”_

Not their best hour. And now that silence is stifling for their close and trapped proximity.

Dean is beginning to think the break he and Cas are about to have from each other might be a good thing. However, he is not a complete bastard. He is well aware how much Cas is missing Sammy. As if the man has not seen the kid in days rather than the few short hours it has been.

Which is why Dean is pulling up outside the building housing Redfern Grove Library.

Cas finally turns from glaring heavily out the passenger window to glaring at him instead. “Why are we here?” He questions. But even through the glare Cas is unable to hide the surprised hopefulness in his eyes as he snaps, “I thought you were allowing Sam his two hours of requested freedom from us?”

Dean has to clamp down on the flash of anger wishing to rise and bite back at the other man. Instead, as calmly as he can manage, he says, “Never said we weren’t gonna check up on the kid, did I? Besides Sam’s voice sounded scratchy on the phone earlier. Like it does after he’s been crying or throwing up.”

“He should have told you if he was still feeling poorly,” Cas remarks, eyes narrowed in displeasure.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, he should’ve. But he didn’t ‘cause he knows I’d’ve hauled his ass back to the motel. Course that’d made you happy.”

“I would _not_ have been happy Sam was still sick, Dean!” Cas shoots back, glare once again prominent. “But if it would have seen him occupying this car with us right now rather than being in a library alone, then yes, I would have preferred Sam told us the truth.”

Dean bites his tongue to refrain from retorting. Because they can keep going around in circles all day with this shit. “You gonna get your ass in there or are we just gonna sit here?”

Cas glare reduces enough for him to show his surprise. “Me?”

“Not much space here for parking, man,” Dean ignores the glaringly obvious free spaces in the small lot around to the side of the library as he says it. “I’ll just keep the engine running. What? You don’t wanna check up on the kid?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“So get in there and see Sam. Then you’ll know that he’s fine.”

And while Dean wants to be the one checking on the kid, he will be seeing Sammy in just over an hour back at the motel, while Cas will be on his way to Vancouver. The former-angel will not be seeing the kid for a good eight to ten hours or even a day. And they cannot afford for Cas’ mind to be back here when he has a drive ahead of him.

“Trouble seems to find Sam even when he is doing nothing, Dean. It’s a little hard not to worry.”

“You think I’m not fully aware of that?” Dean snaps, his calm slipping. “Think my protectiveness all these years has just been to irritate the hell outta Sam? Fuck, if there’s a freaking nail sticking outta somethin’ and Sammy’s nowhere near the damn thing, you can betcha ass Sammy will somehow scratch himself on it.”

“Exactly the reason he should not be left alone,” Cas mutters loud enough for Dean to hear.

“Just get your ass in there,” Dean instructs gruffly. Cas shoots him one last glare before opening his door and climbing out of the car. Dean leans over, calling out, “And Cas!” Cas leans down to look back into the car at him. “Do it discreetly.”

“You wish for me to spy on Sam without alerting him to my presence?”

“Yeah. Didn’t I just say that?”

Cas’ lips purse once again and Dean lets out a sigh the second the door closes behind Cas.

#

Dean lifts his head from the backrest of his seat as the passenger door opens just under ten minutes later. He scrubs at tired eyes with his fingers, having tried to fit in a few minutes of sleep while he has the chance.

“Sam looks tired. But he’s safe,” Cas says once he sits his ass back on the passenger seat. Cas looks and sounds relaxed for the first time today since waking up from that nightmare of his and Dean silently congratulates himself. “He’s pouring over books and making notes.”

Dean nods slightly, relieved to know his kid is safe and doing okay. It allows him to put his own mind at ease as well. “Typical Sammy then,” he comments as he throws the car into drive.

He pulls them back onto the road, aiming for the garage he looked into yesterday that does rental cars. The short journey continues in silence and Dean once again pulls the Impala to a stop, this time at the side of the garage.

Dean opens his door, moving to exit the car when he stops himself. Because if Dean has learnt anything from being the big brother of such a stubborn kid it is to not let arguments fester. It does not eradicate the problem. Just makes life difficult and awkward. And with Dean’s personality he can easily let it continue; just wait for Cas to come to him to have this out and give Cas the cold shoulder while he is at it.  

He closes the door again and turns in his seat, leaning his right arm atop the backrest while reaching out to grasp Cas’ arm with his left hand. Cas stops his own climb from the car, and lets himself drop back down onto the seat.

“What is it, Dean?”

“I know how to talk in front of my baby brother, Cas,” Dean makes clear. Cas blinks back at him before closing his door. “A few curse words might pop out here and there, but for the most part I keep it in check around Sammy.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas responds quietly. “And I’m sorry, I was just trying to help. You tell Sam not to curse yet all you can manage to do in some sentences is curse. I just… I don’t want our little boy getting into trouble because he’s copying you. And-and I’m scared, Dean. Which is not an unknown emotion to me concerning you and Sam. But on this level? As if a part of me will die if I were to lose either of you … I don’t know what to do with that, Dean.”

Dean sighs softly. “All I can tell you is that we deal with it together,” he says, reaching out and gripping the other man’s shoulder. “Just as Sam and I have had to. We make it work. And kick anyone’s ass that thinks they can get to Sammy. Or you. Or me.”

“And if we’re not fast enough?”

Dean knows the answer to that but he is not going to voice it. “C’mere,” he says softly, bringing Cas against him, wrapping solid arms around his partner’s slightly trembling frame.

They take just a minute to absorb each other’s apology before Dean pulls back. “That niggling at the back of my head’s flaring again,” Dean calmly points out this time.

“Dammit.” Cas pushes further back from him, closing his eyes and reaching up to rub his fingers against his temples. “Should this not be harder for you, Dean?” he grouches. “You have had powers for five minutes.”

“Yeah and I get it, man, I do. It ain't easy. You’ve had your powers for centuries. But have you ever had to control them like this with such a tight rein?”

“I learnt to work with my grace as a fledgling, just as all fledgling angels do, but this… Knowing my grace will cause serious harm to someone I greatly care about if even a fraction is unleashed…” Cas shakes his head. “No. I have never had to stop my grace flowing before it even starts.”

“There's your answer. I may not have had these powers very long but I know how to clamp a vice down on ‘em in a way you’ve never had to before.”

“Then perhaps you can teach me. I don’t want to cause Sam further harm.”

“We can give it a try. I dunno if I can put it into words though. I just …” Dean shrugs somewhat self-consciously, “… I won’t allow these frigging powers control me like a whole heap of shit has done lately.”

“So… you control them,” Cas murmurs, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on Dean’s knee. “My grace… I do not control it. I work _with_ it. Perhaps that is where I have been erring. I have been thinking of the powers the way I did as an angel. But I should be thinking of them as a human. And as a human they can overpower me if _I_ do not control _them_.” Cas stops his tapping to stare beseechingly at Dean as if he should have all the answers. “How do I do that, Dean?” he demands.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam really wishes he had not left his pacifier behind at the motel.

He generally does not think about what he could be introducing into his body every time he sticks his thumb or fingers in his mouth. But even he is aware enough to know that with all the dirt and dust surrounding him, he would be behaving like an idiot if he were to use his thumb or fingers to soothe him right now.

Nor does he usually wish for a freaking pacifier or his thumb to begin with in these situations. He is usually more focused on finding a way out and getting to his brother. Or getting both of them out. Whatever the situation, Sam does not usually crave the comfort of his pacifier or thumb …

 _Dean_ , the little boy in him rises up and cries out for big brother and Sam clamps his teeth down on his bottom lip to prevent the whimper of his brother’s name escaping into the still air.

 _Uh-uh no, Sammy, you don’t get to be here right now,_ he silently scolds, wrestling back some semblance of control from his inner child. _I gotta…_ Sam shakes his head, trying to clear the sting from his eyes. _I gotta focus. Go ‘way._

He lasts barely a minute before his shirt collar finds its way into his mouth. It does not taste particularly pleasant but suckling against it does help him onto the path of calming his roiling emotions and allow him to settle his mind.

Because freaking out is not going to do him any good.  

He is only sixty feet in the air.

That’s… that’s practically on the ground.

Yeah.

So near the ground there is barely any space between him and the grime he is pretty sure is coating the floor of this derelict building Crowley has planted his butt in.

Because who doesn’t want to be hanging out in abandoned places?

It is not like it is a new concept to Sam. He just much prefers those shit-holes to be a little closer to ground level. And reasonably in one piece.

Not this place with its heaviness of expectation and foreboding; as if it is just waiting for one more life-form to creak its way across the debris Sam glimpsed below. With walls so tall and never-ending; encircling Sam as if preparing him to be the victim of an ambush. And as Sam shifts his butt a little so he can feel the metal of his gun still safely stashed away in his jeans waistband, he can only hope that is not going to be the case here.

The empty spaces where windows once stood are now only shattered remains with sharp pieces scattered in frames here and there. It honestly resembles something that has been through a war. And Sam can only pray nothing so dramatic befell it. That it is just another building that has been neglected over too many years.

Otherwise the possibility Crowley has sent him somewhere no longer in the States is too great. And Sam really cannot think about that. Because then how will Dean and Cas get to him when Cas can no longer use his teleportation? Or how will they even find him to begin with?

It is also not very helpful that Crowley has landed him in the middle of everything.

The concrete beam Sam is clinging to looks to be part of a set of two standing at roughly four feet in length from each other. They hold up his only safety; a small, narrow and crumbling slab of concrete sitting beneath his feet that once belonged to a staircase. The ledge jagged at the edges where it must have previously disintegrated.

The beams are wide and thick. The one he is clinging to holds the remains of a sloping balustrade jutting out of it; the wood sagging in the middle and the spindles completely missing. It would not be sturdy enough to hold his weight to get him down to the next level. And with his broken arm there is no way in hell he could even chance trying to shimmy his way down either of the beams to the next standing level without falling to his death.

Not to mention the concrete is crumbling in places and Sam can see the rebar through a coating of thin vines snaking their way around the beams. And those things would have only helped to get him killed.

It is all ominously far from any comfort to Sam and tells him only one thing: he has no way down.

He is a fly caught neatly in the King of Hell’s web for the sole purpose of luring in Dean.

And for what?

For Crowley to demand they go find Rowena?

Um, yeah, funny thing is, Sam is pretty sure they were doing something before Crowley came barging in.

Now what was it exactly?

Oh yeah… _looking_ for Rowena.

“CROWLEY!!” Sam yells, his voice echoing all around him.

As pissed as Sam is he is hoping the dick demon can hear him wherever the hell he is. And he continues to yell out the King of Hell’s name repeatedly until he slumps against the concrete beam. He could yell himself hoarse doing this and it will gain him nothing save for the satisfaction of releasing his frustration.

And a sore throat.

Because of course Crowley is a freaking demon and not an angel. He cannot be summoned by yelling or praying; the bastard has to be summoned the old fashioned way with a summoning spell. Or by phone; cause demons got with the program and joined the twenty first century. Yay them.

None of it helps Sam right now when he has no access to a phone or the materials for a summoning spell.

He is up shit creek without any paddles.

Sam snorts humourlessly. He really does not want to think about paddles right now. Not when he already has a spanking awaiting him and now could be facing a potential paddling on top of it.

Because thanks to Crowley, Sam’s little trip to the library has turned into a dangerous situation.

Meaning Sam’s actions in leaving the safety of the motel room - leaving the safety of Dean and Cas - has planted him firmly over that line that correlates to placing his life in danger. The line that brings out the hairbrush. And Sam really does not want to feel that on his bottom any more than he does Dean’s hand.

Sam kicks out at a small chunk of concrete. It sails over the edge of the ledge and he listens to the clatter of it hitting crap on its way down to the ground with some satisfaction.

Until he swiftly remembers that could easily be him.

Which is only proven all the more possible when a piece of the ledge he is standing on crumbles away beneath his boot. He scuttles backwards, tightening his hold on the beam as he goes, wincing at the pain flaring in his left arm.

Then he feels something drop on his forehead, soon followed by another. He shakes his head, hoping it is not a whole bunch of spiders coming to eat him, while cursing his brother for letting him watch _Arachnophobia._ Feeling several more drops on his hair a second later, something worse overrides the idea of a killer spider invasion.

And slowly turning his gaze upwards to the holes in the roof several destroyed storeys above him, he scowls at the dark rain clouds overhead just before the heavens decide to fully open.                                                                                            

“That’s just great,” Sam mutters grumpily as he ducks his head back down.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean paces the motel room like a caged animal. Crossing from one wall to the next. Then hits repeat. All the while his phone is glued to his ear and he shoots glances down at his watch every other second.

It had only taken him ten minutes to get back to the motel after hiring the car for Cas and seeing his partner off, helpfully pointing him in the direction of Canada. Dean then spent the twenty minutes leading up to Sam’s curfew simultaneously packing their crap and flicking the curtain to peer outside at the lot, expecting to see Sammy heading in.                             

But it is now twenty-five after ten.

Sam is ten minutes late and not answering his phone.

And there is a churning in Dean’s gut he just wants to put down to the kid testing him.

But Dean knows Sam would not chance being on the receiving end of a second spanking. Just as Dean promised the kid he will be getting if he blatantly disobeys Dean all over again.

“Sam, answer your goddamn phone!” Dean growls into it for the sixth time when it goes over to voicemail.

It is plausible, of course, the kid just fell asleep or lost track of time. It would not be the first occurrence of that. But Dean shakes his head. Sam is sensible enough to have set an alarm to alert him to his limited time just as Dean had done.

The kid’s butt is on the line here after all.

And they have a rule about always picking up the phone when they are apart. It may stand unspoken but it stands nonetheless. Sammy would not be so irresponsible with both being late and not answering his phone unless something had happened.

That feeling in his gut increases at the thought. A thought that has not really left him since Cas voiced his dream; his fears that Sammy is not safe out there. No matter what Dean may have indicated otherwise to Cas.

“Screw it,” he snaps as he shuts off the call, grabbing up his jacket from where he discarded it on the table when he got here.

Opening the door, he just manages to remember to lock it before he is in the Impala and speeding out of the parking lot onto the main road back into town. He keeps his eyes peeled along the sidewalks for any sign of his Sasquatch, but it becomes apparent his brother is not out there.

Dean presses down on the gas.

Dammit! What the hell had he been thinking in letting Sammy stay at the fucking library alone? The kid does not even have the demon knife with him; the weapon now sits in Dean’s pocket. And Sam knows he takes that knife with him if he and Dean are not together. So now Dean’s hand is going to have to connect with Sam’s butt in further discussion for that slip-up.

Dean shakes his head. Fuck. Cas was right. They should have gone to get the kid straight away. Not let Sam dictate the way this went by playing that little ‘freedom’ card.

Dean _knows_ he is protective. He fucking _knows_ Sam might feel suffocated by it sometimes. That was the primary reason he had allowed Sam’s requested hours of freedom. To let the kid get back to the research after being sick, and use it to get his head together. Because he meant it when he said Sammy is more likely to be the one to figure out these aftereffects from the spell.

But is Dean meant to do a one-eighty in personality? Just sit back and let Sam do whatever the hell he wants whenever he wants to do it?

Let a child rule the roost?

Yeah. Fuck that.

Sam had demanded that of him once and it nearly destroyed them both.

It _had_ destroyed Sam in the consequential end.

Dean will not sit back and let something like that happen again. Sammy has had his allotted time for research and now the kid should be taking a nap in the backseat of the car on the way to Seattle. Or colouring. Or playing with his new toys Dean has yet to give him. Not … Dean’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, shoving the thought aside.

He is just jumping to conclusions. He is unaware of anything having happened yet. 

But if this lateness, this feeling in his gut, turns out to be something far worse, Dean is gluing the kid to his fucking side.

 

**#SPN#**

 

It only takes minutes for the biting rain to soak through Sam’s clothing. And with only his thin shirts and no winter jacket or gloves helping to shield his body from the cold, he is going to end up getting sick again at this rate. And that is the last thing they need now. They have already wasted five days with sickness thanks to him. They cannot afford to waste anymore.

Which means he needs to get out of the rain before he can get any wetter. Or at least cross to a dryer patch of ledge. Unfortunately for him, that resides on the other side of the ledge where several portions of fallen ceiling have created a little alcove. He would just need to cross the roughly four foot distance separating the two beams without wobbling or slipping off the crumbling ledge and plunging to his death.

Maybe he should suggest to Dean they need a vacation. Somewhere hot. Like Hawaii. Sam shakes his head. He would never suggest a vacation spot like that. He knows that even though they now have greater funds thanks to the Men of Letters accounts, they still live to a budget Dean has carefully worked out and organised for the years to come.

If they live that long.

Sam likes to think it will be so. He often prays it will be so. At least for his brother. Dean should get to grow to be an old man; settle down and have a family of his own. If anyone deserves to have that it is Dean.

Unfortunately Sam may be naïve when it comes to some things, but he is no longer _that_ naïve when it comes to his brother’s mortality. Or his own.   

Hell, look where he is.

And he is about to try to cross a ledge that houses a sixty-foot drop either side if he makes one false move.

It’s gonna be fun.

Sam swallows thickly against encroaching panic.

He can do this.

Unfortunately for every idea that pops into his mind to get him across the space, his brain throws in the risk factor that his emotions are leaning all too heavily towards.  

Maybe if he walks across it will only take two or three strides of his long legs; but that could easily generate wobbling and he cannot hold both arms out either side of him for proper balance.

Yep, scratch that one.

He could butt shuffle his way across; he will not be able to use his left arm to steady himself from behind though.

That one too.

On and on it goes until he reaches the conclusion that he will just have to go the way of trusted hands and knees. Though he will have to try not to place too much weight on his left arm.  

Yeah, he can do that.

Once he releases his hold on the beam he is clinging too of course. And does not make the mistake of looking down again.

That depth really is not comforting.

Sam latches hold of his shirt collar again. It is wet with rain as he suckles. But at least it is only water, and his saliva is only adding to the wetness anyway. So what does it matter as long as it calms him?

He closes his eyes, slowly forcing his numb left arm from around the beam.

The pain that fires through his forearm, down to his hand and up to his shoulder, is so excruciating after being still for a long while that it brings tears to his eyes. He tries to blink them back but one betraying drop of salt water trails down his cheek. He angrily swipes it away against his shoulder.

This is no time for stupid tears.  

Sam bites down on his shirt as he wrenches his arm away from the beam, his cry of pain absorbed by the shirt collar. He rests his forehead against the concrete and just breathes for a long moment before he pushes himself backwards and slowly turns around.

Carefully slipping down to his knees, Sam has to cradle his useless left arm to his chest while pushing forwards onto his right. Some vague memory of having his arm casted and in a sling when he was younger invades his mind; and his ability to adapt to the situation, crawling around the floor while playing and easily using just the one arm to do so.

 _Well if shrimp me could do it, so can I_ , Sam encourages himself, shuffling forwards slowly with his left knee, then his right hand, then right knee, then left knee again. He stills as he wobbles slightly against the imbalance, fear lancing through him as he gets too much of a look downwards over the side of the ledge.

He blows out a breath, steadies himself and perseveres. 

He has too.  

He cannot be the reason their search for Rowena is delayed yet again, as if something is purposely shoving things in their way to stop them. He knows that is a ridiculous notion, but it sure feels like it. As if something out there does not want them finding out what is going on with Dean.

He cannot be the reason Dean loses himself again. If that is what is happening. Dean deserves not to have his own control ripped away from him. Dean deserves to have a hell of a lot more than that, but right now that is all Sam can try and fix.

At least he will when he gets out of here.

Reaching the alcove, Sam sighs a breath of relief once he is situated on his butt, curled back against the concrete of this new beam and protected from the majority of the rain. And more than thankful he has a knack for curling his body into small spaces despite his large size.

Now he can only hope the broken pieces of ceiling above him do not cave in.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Pushing through the front entrance doors of Redfern Grove Library, Dean spies nothing out of the ordinary. People are wandering about, sitting at organised tables or study cubicles; just going about their business and doing whatever the hell they came here to do.

What he does not spy is his brother. And Sammy is not all that easy to miss. 

He takes his search into the stacks. The bathroom and side rooms. He still sees no fucking sign of his kid.

 _C’mon, Sammy, be here,_ Dean silently implores as he moves across to the circulation desk. Behind it stands an elderly woman that might keel over any second. Though preferably not before Dean can talk to her.

He catches her bored, dead eyes as she looks up from the thick book in her hands, and has to wonder why the hell she is working here if she is that bored out of her skull. He brushes it aside; he could care less about a person’s job choices right now.

“Ma’am, have you seen a guy ‘bout yay high,” Dean holds his hand couple inches above his head, before bringing it to his neck, “dark hair ‘bout here?”  

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, lips pursed.

Okay. What could Sammy have possibly done to piss her off? Kid is a goody-two-shoes in these places. “You see where he went by chance?”

She shoots him a glare. “Do I look like a watchdog to you, sonny?”

Any other day Dean might have been taken aback by her rudeness. But not today. And it is becoming apparent that Sammy more than likely did not do anything to offend her either. The woman is just a cranky old bat. Again he has to wonder how she is employed in an environment that caters to children.

“People come and go,” she goes on. “That’s their business. Go mind your own.”

“Well, gee lady, just about everybody pisses you off, huh? Thanks for the fucking help,” Dean snarls, and when she steps back in shock he would have smirked in amusement if he was not worried as fuck about his kid.

“Well, I never.” He hears her murmur and rolls his eyes as he moves further into the room, intent on taking another circuit of the place.

“She’s an old crank.”

Dean comes to an abrupt stop, blinking down at the teenage girl now standing in his way. “What?”

“Mrs Shaw, she… never mind.” She waves a fingerless glove-covered hand, the ring in her painted black bottom lip moving up and down as she talks. “You were looking for someone, right?” Dean nods, moving to sidestep her to continue that task. “Hey, wait, I heard the description of the guy you were looking for.”

Dean stops, snaps his gaze back to her. “You see him?”  

“Err, _yeah_ , he’s hot.” She smirks, before blinking wide brown eyes as Dean unconsciously growls at the implication of the girl thinking his innocent _little boy_ is ‘hot’. “Um, he’s sitting at the far table …” She quickly gestures towards the back of the room, to a table situated the farthest from the old bat at the desk. “… Or, err, well, he was,” she finishes seeing the table empty.

Dean charges passed her, throwing a quick “thanks” over his shoulder.

Reaching the table a moment later, Dean’s hunter-trained eyes take in everything within a matter of seconds. Sam’s jacket hanging over the back of the chair; his bag on the floor and resting against the nearest table leg; his phone sitting on the desk next to a stack of books and notebook; his laptop open and though the screen is black, Dean can hear it running.

Sam’s phone suddenly beeps with the usual tone he knows Sam uses for alarms. Dean snatches it up, shutting off the alarm. He runs his finger across the screen to bring up recent calls and texts. The last call was only an hour ago and a number Dean does not recognise. He presses it and sticks the phone to his ear while he rummages through the books stacked up, looking to be ready to be put away. And maybe Sammy was in that process before … 

“ _Sam, we’re good.”_ Dean frowns at the chirpy and familiar female voice on the other end of the phone. _“I got the email after applying some super-geekery to the Wi-Fi …_ ”

“ _What_ email, Charlie?”

“ _Dean? Oh. Hey, big bro. How’s things?”_

“Charlie,” Dean growls.

_“Oooo-kay, someone’s not in a chatty mood today. And-I-don’t-wanna-get-Sam-in-trouble-in-case-he-shouldn’t-have-sent-me-what-he-did.”_

“Breathe, Charlie,” Dean instructs, thankful for all the practise his kid brother has given him over the years at understanding quick-fire speech. “Sam won’t be in trouble. Just tell me what he sent you.”

“ _A copy and translation of the spell he said he used to cure you. See if I can help, wait… you have Sam’s phone. Why do I think that’s not a good thing?_ ”

“Because it’s not. He say anything to you about feeling anything off where he was or …”

“ _Like maybe there was a supernatural fugly nearby? No. We talked about other stuff. What’s going on, Dean?_ ”

“Sam’s missing.”

“ _Well damn. Anything I can do? I’ll catch the first bus out …_ ”

“No. Stay wherever you’re holed up, Charlie. I’ll call if I need anything.”

“ _Okay. And Dean?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _Bring him home._ ”

Dean nods, knowing the woman he views as a little sister cannot see him, but he does not think he can speak right in that second. Charlie will understand that. He shuts off the call, his gaze trailing around the library once more. Eyes searching out the baby brother he knows in his heart and gut is no longer present in Redfern Grove Library.

Shoving Sam’s phone in his jeans pocket, Dean brushes his finger over the laptop touchpad. And when the screensaver does not shift into the login screen, Dean sends thanks out to whoever that he shifted the timer to last longer when he changed all the passwords yesterday. Otherwise he would be wasting time he may not have trying to access the damn computer. He knows Sam would have changed the log-in password.

Running his eyes over the screen, Dean is silently hoping against hope he finds some clue that Sam found something out and has just disobeyed Dean in going out there to search that something deeper.

He can hope, can’t he?

 _Yeah right,_ Dean snorts at his own thoughts.

Because they clearly do not live in a world where a trip to the library can be filled with safety. Safety is not their world. Their world is filled with Winchester luck that has fuck all to do with luck.

There is a note open on screen. He leans in closer and squints his eyes, quickly realising the writing has purposefully been set to a tiny font that would be illegible to even those with the greatest eyesight. Highlighting the words, he changes the font size and his blood runs cold as he reads the words over:

 

_Moosey Goosey stood on a ledge_

_Moosey Goosey fell on his head_

_All the King’s minions_

_And all the King’s henchmen_

_Couldn’t be arsed to put Moosey together again_

_Hawthorne Ave, Portland, OR. Last building on the left, Squirrel._

 

Dean's hands close into tight fists; such violent anger pulsing through him at the King of Hell that he can practically feel himself vibrate.

Only when he hears a weird creaking sound more familiar to the setting of a forest from the groaning of trees does he realise the edge of the table is grinding and splintering between his clenched fists.

He snaps his hands away. He needs to get the hell out of here. Before he does far more damage. And not to the freaking library furniture - he could care less about that right now. His baby brother will be hurt just because Dean is angry if Dean were to lose the tight reign he has had on his powers since finding out the impact they are having on Sammy.

Dean’s gut twists violently and he has to push back the urge to throw up along with the ever growing anger at Crowley. He will never hurt his kid like that. Not again. Not intentionally.

_Sammy, I'm coming, kiddo._

Quickly gathering Sam's belongings - shoving everything in the kid’s bag - he grabs up the jacket and heads for the exit. His arm is grabbed only two steps away from the table.

“Sir, you have to put the books away before you leave,” a young guy – barely out of his teens - informs Dean, aggravation coating his tone.

Dean raises hard eyes from the fingers curled around his bicep to stare into the grey eyes of someone who has just unknowingly made himself an enemy. The hand is snatched away from Dean’s arm with a gulp of rational fear.

“I-I’ll just, um, just, um, do it f-for you, sir,” the guy is saying, but Dean is already walking away and does not give a fuck if the guy sets the damn books on fire.

Slamming his way out of the front entrance doors, Dean digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Cas’. His former-angel should only be thirty to forty minutes out of town with the way he drives. And while Dean could easily go alone, he will not risk that action being detrimental to getting Sammy back, whole and alive.

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Change of plans, Cas,” Dean says gruffly, unlocking the Impala and climbing in behind the wheel. “Crowley has Sam.”

“ _What? When?_ ” Cas questions sharply, while Dean hears the squeal of rental tyres as Cas slams on the anchor, hopefully at the side of the road and not dead centre.

“Bastard took him out of the library.” Dean dumps Sammy’s belongings on the passenger side. “Left his stuff behind.”

“ _That sounds suspicious for Crowley. He would clean up._ ”

“Crowley _wants_ us knowing he has Sam. Left me a note. A twisted nursery rhyme.”

And the fact Crowley would choose now to manipulate a nursery rhyme does not bode well for them keeping their 'situation' under the radar. Sam's mind is an open book to a demon of Crowley's level. Dean should have pushed sooner for Sam to get the anti-possession tattoo done. And as soon as they have Sam safely back that is exactly what he intends to do.

“ _I knew something like this was going to happen, Dean._ ” 

“Yeah well we can yell at each other about that later,” Dean shoots back. “Right now, we gotta get to Sam. Crowley was nice enough to tell us where he is.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

It took Dean just over an hour to make it to Portland, a normal near two hour journey, and he was probably lucky to have not been pulled over as he flew down the interstate. But Cas was not far behind him, a mere twenty minutes if that. A surprising time, considering the snail-pace the self-taught man drives.

And now Dean, soaked through from the rain and not really giving a shit, holds out two guns to Cas, who takes them, along with a box of ammo. The bullets are all tipped with devils traps. And Cas’ two guns, along with Dean’s three, are already loaded up ready for use.

“There’s no sign of Sam or Crowley in the building,” Dean informs his partner, having scouted the exterior of the building during his wait for Cas.

Admittedly using the investigation as a means of distracting himself from just walking into the building alone. There is no telling what Crowley might have his demons doing to Sammy and how much the kid is suffering at their hands. He can only be grateful he heard no screams coming from within the building.

But if they are hurting Sammy, Dean intends to kill every last fucking demon that laid a hand on his kid, along with those that just watched and more than likely laughed and jeered. Dean does not intend to take prisoners. Because if they are involved in Sam’s kidnapping, they have involved themselves in getting killed.

“Crowley could be keeping Sam elsewhere and will bring him when he comes,” Cas theorises. “This is the correct address?” He queries, tucking one of the gun’s Dean gave him into the back waistband of his jeans while fixing his gaze on the last building on the left of Hawthorne Avenue.

The building that looks as if it might collapse into its foundation if someone were to blow on it too forcefully. It does not bode well for their venture inside. But with Sam at risk from both demons and a derelict building, both of them will walk willingly into that building to find him.  

There is no doubting that.

“Yeah. Course Crowley coulda been lying outta his ass,” Dean supplies, dropping ammo and a flask of holy-water into his inside jacket pocket.

“He wants something from you. Us. By taking Sam he baited that hook.”

“And we’ll be biting. Just not the way the bastard wants it.”

Dean closes the Impala’s trunk just shy of taking his frustration, anger and fear out on his Baby. But even if he did, she would understand their boy is in trouble and if she could talk she would be telling Dean to go kick it in the ass.

Just as Dean intends to do right now.

He nods to Cas and they smoothly and quietly make their way to a side entrance into the building. The only entrance still viable. It will be their meeting point if and when Sam is found. And they separate the minute they step over the threshold to cover more ground.

Dean’s eyes rove over every nook, every ledge or outcropping. Every fucking broken staircase up high and under every piece of broken flooring or fallen ceiling that Sam might be huddled beneath to try and keep dry from the rain.

He finds nothing. No sign of his kid. And he can only hope Cas is at least having more luck on the other side. But if Cas comes back just as empty-handed as Dean it will quickly become more than apparent that Crowley purposefully gave them the wrong fucking address. The demon probably wanting to watch them run around like headless chickens on a fucking goose chase.

Except Dean has never been a headless chicken and does not intend to start now.

Crowley has already signed his own death warrant as far as Dean is concerned. And any tentative alliance there may or may not have been between the Winchesters and the King of Hell is now a thing of the past. Crowley has screwed the pooch in taking Sammy and that is the one thing Crowley should _know_ Dean will not stand for.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam jolts awake, unsure when he even closed his eyes, as his right hand flies up to his nose upon feeling the wetness dripping out and over his upper lip. While at the same time forgetting his tight quarters and the top of his head impacts the broken plaster of fallen ceiling creating his little alcove. He winces against the flash of pain. But thankfully he knows the hit was not hard enough for Sam to even be seeing stars or do any real damage save for perhaps a small knot later.

After all he has been in plenty of scrapes to know. And that is probably understating the crap he has gotten himself into over the years. This predicament probably does not even rate in the top five, though it is undoubtedly close.

But if there is one thing he has never lost faith in during all these years is that his brother will come charging in and kick the crap out of the thing or person who dared to take, touch or threaten Sam.

And with the extent of protectiveness Dean – and even Cas – have been displaying towards Sam lately, Crowley has more than likely just put his neck on the chopping box. Not that Sam cares.

Because a little bit of Sam – okay, maybe a little more than a little bit – is hoping he will be able to watch the beat down Dean is going to lay on Crowley. Dean might not do away with the King of Hell – that will depend on Dean’s mood and whether they can risk the shit storm that Crowley’s death will create with Hell – but it does not mean Crowley cannot be hurt.

Crowley cannot be trusted. His idea of helping comes with a side order of manipulation and taking Sam is just one means of manipulating Dean into doing what Crowley wants.

Sam sighs and returns his full attention back to his nose. Pulling his fingers away, he is met with what he already knew he was going to find as he can taste the iron of his blood at the back of his throat.

Tipping his head forward slightly, he has no way of blocking the flow from dripping over his clothing, but he cannot help that. His left arm is sitting useless against his chest, a rivulet of blood now trailing down his hand. And he needs his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose just like his big brother and Cas have had to do for him over these past few days. Ever since the nosebleeds began.

But Sam was hoping he had seen an end to them. He has not had one for at least a day. But of course now his nose decides to bleed again. When he is sixty feet in the goddamn air.

Thankfully it seems to be a short one and barely two or three minutes later the flow has completely ebbed. Leaving Sam once again concerned about his situation and how the hell he is going to get himself out of this one before Dean can walk into a trap alone while Cas is on his way to Vancouver.

Though Sam is hoping Dean has the prescience to bring Cas back so they can watch each other’s six. Especially for the fact Dean will be walking in blind.  

Sam leans outward past the lip of his alcove so he can look up toward the hole in the roof to the outside world, trying to get a sense to the time of day. But it is still raining and the sky is still filled with dark grey rain clouds. He quietly prays he will not still be here when full darkness descends. Because then his fears will undoubtedly start to encroach upon his mind.

Ducking back fully into his alcove, Sam freezes as a feeling of ice slides down his back and his neck and arm hair stands on end. Just as it happened back at the library and this time Sam knows for definite he is sensing demons.

Two of them.

Neither one of which is Crowley.

Slowly reaching around to his back with his good arm he withdraws his gun. Before he can bring it around to his front, however, he startles backwards in tangible fear, his heart beating rapidly as a thick black cloud of demon smoke appears outside the alcove. The edges of mass start to quiver when it comes to a stop as if the pure form of the demon is laughing at him.

Which honestly does not surprise Sam.

Another long cloud of black smoke appears. It slowly winds around the other like a snake scaling a tree until it reaches the alcove and just hovers there in front of Sam, just like the other one. And if the demons had eyes in this form, Sam is more than aware they would be hungrily staring at him.

Knowing his gun is useless with the demons in this form, Sam sets it down and clamps his hand over his mouth. He knows it is stupid. If they want in they will force their way inside of him. But it makes him feel better, especially when the bodies of smoke quiver together even more.

Laughing at his fear of being invaded against his will. Again.

A noise that sounds an awful lot like metal hitting stone startles both Sam and the two demon clouds. They lift their ‘heads’ like snakes inspecting their surroundings before they are scattering before Sam can even blink. Within seconds that feeling of ice lifts, meaning the demons did not move to engage whatever caused that noise.

They fled completely. 

And Sam wants to feel elated by the demons feeling fear of their own, but he is too preoccupied by whatever could have caused that sound.

Of course the little boy inside of him immediately jumps to one conclusion.

“Dean,” Sam murmurs behind his hand, unwilling to lower it in case it is all a ruse on the demons part.

But when the demons do not return a few moments later, Sam cautiously lowers his hand. No demon jumps out at him or forces its way down his throat. And Sam slowly ducks his head out of the alcove enough to look around him and down. He snaps his head to the side having thought he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, just below and to his left.

Biting his bottom lip, Sam shuffles his way out of his alcove to peer more clearly over the edge of the ledge. Hunter trained eyes catch movement once again and Sam sucks in a breath before once again clamping a hand over his mouth, this time to mask the sound.

His eyes follow the steady rise of something scaling the wall like it is frigging Spider-Man.

And it is no demon.

A demon would not find it necessary to climb a wall when they can just appear in front of their target. And Sam does not sense anything from it.

Shifting backwards, Sam slowly withdraws his gun from the alcove and carefully makes his way back across the ledge to the furthest point from the wall. He pushes his back up against the beam, butt on the floor, feet on the floor before him, and unsteadily aims his gun. His right hand shaking from both cold and adrenaline.

 

**#SPN#**

 

The report of a gunshot cracks through the air as loud as thunder but without that raw power belonging to a storm and too powerful to be a car backfiring. It reverberates towards Dean from behind and he whips around, recognising the familiar sound as belonging to Sam’s favoured gun.

“SAMMY!!” Dean yells and wastes no time taking off towards a narrow corridor he spies at the base of the back wall, splashing through puddles as he goes.

A short moss-covered slope leads the way into the corridor but Dean just hits it with his boots and slides his way down, the momentum allowing him to continue on at a run without slowing his pace. Breeching the end of the corridor into further open space of broken building, Dean freezes in his tracks at the sight before him.

He is not exactly sure what it is he is seeing. But the thing hovering at least sixty feet up in the air could easily pass for human if it was not for the eyes. And Dean should not even be able to see them from his spot, but they are glowing a dark swirling blue with what Dean can only describe as flashes of lightning or electricity flickering within them. The thing is staring straight down at him, but Dean has the impression the creature is not actually seeing him.

But that is not the worst of it. The things stomach is twisting and swirling like a sideways whirlpool or vortex, lightning flashing across and around it just as with the eyes. And even where Dean stands he can feel the force of the power behind it.

It takes only seconds for Dean’s hunter trained eyes to assimilate the observations into his mind and he is moving again, gun trained on the thing. He aims for its head and shoots. His bullet follows his intended trajectory until it gets close and then it is sucked into the vortex.

Dean sucks in a breath as he takes one more step and finds his baby brother. His heart-rate must be flying off the freaking chart with the fear that pulses through him as he sees Sammy struggling to grip hold of a thin fucking ledge and keep himself out of the monster’s tornado-like fucking gut.

“Hold the fuck on, Sammy!!” Dean yells, his plea echoing off the walls.

“Dean?!” Sam yells, voice filled with both relief and confusion. Just before he nearly loses his hold, icicles of fear slicing into Dean's chest only driven ever deeper from the scream that alights from his baby. “De, help me!!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying. Fuck. What do I do? What do I do?” His gun is clearly fucking useless. The thing – whatever the hell it is - just had its gut swallow Dean’s damn bullet.

Just like it wants to swallow Dean’s baby.

That fear gripping him latches on ever tighter like a boa constrictor not getting the fucking message that he does not want to be squeezed to death.  

A loud gasp behind him has Dean spinning around, gun raised and ready to fire only to lower it with a curse. Cas’ eyes are blown wide as he stares up at the thing trying to suck Sammy in and the former-angel’s words from earlier today slam into Dean like a ton of bricks.

“ _There is a child. Our child. The child is taken from us. Drawn into a vortex and… and we can do nothing._ ”

And Dean realises with horrifying clarity that they are watching Cas’ dream come to fucking life before their very eyes.

Well fuck that. No. That is not happening on Dean’s watch. Not now. Not fucking ever.

He just… they just… fuck.

How the fuck are they meant to stop a vortex creature hell bent on taking their kid away?  

“Cas, you got any clue what this thing is?” Dean snaps harshly, mind swinging from one idea to the next and discarding each and every fucking one. He grabs hold of Cas’ shoulders when he receives no response and gives him a rough shake. “Cas, you know what this thing is?” he repeats.

Cas blinks and the fear in Cas’ blue eyes no doubt matches that in Dean’s. “No. I have only heard whispers of a creature like this, but it has never been proven or seen.”

"De! Can’t h-hold on …”

“Sammy, NO! Don’t you let go! You hold on, you hear me!” _Please, kiddo, just hold on_ , Dean silently pleads.

He can hear the fatigue in the echoes of his little boy’s voice. See it in his long body being forced horizontally out from his hold on the ledge. And Dean knows as much as he can plead and pray for Sammy to keep holding on, the kid’s strength will not hold out for much longer. And definitely not long enough for Dean and Cas to find a way to kill or stop a monster even a former-angel had no idea actually existed.  

He narrows his eyes as he notices something going on with the vines of the wild plants growing and curling around the concrete beams near Sammy. And it is only as the colour starts to seep out of the vines and they break apart like ash that he realises they are wilting. And if they are wilting as if …

“Cas, it’s sucking the life out of Sam!” Dean states, charging forwards only for strong arms to grab him around his chest, pulling him back. “Cas! Let me go! It’s killing Sammy! Let me fucking GO!!”

“Dean! Calm!” Cas snaps. “Whatever it is doing is travelling down and outwards!” Cas points to the lower vines and plants across the buildings walls and Dean stops struggling so fiercely. Even the moss is sliding down the walls. “It is sucking the life out of everything in here. It will not be long before it reaches us!”

“I’m not leaving him!” Dean smacks his elbow sharply into Cas’ ribcage. The other man gasps and his hold releases enough for Dean to get out of it. “If that thing wants Sam it can take us too!” Dean exclaims, running forwards once more, his intention to climb the concrete beam to get to his kid.

Only he skids to a stop when a snarl ignites before him. He can feel a presence, but nothing is visible. And in all of Dean’s history with the supernatural he knows of only one creature that sounds like a fucking dog while being invisible.

“Dean!”

“Cas! Hellhound!” Dean calls, splitting his gaze between his brother and the area from which that snarl came from.

If this thing wants to attack they do not have fucking glasses with a spell on them to view the damn thing and kill it. They are sitting ducks. And now is really NOT the fucking time for this!

“No, Dean,” Cas says from right beside him, angel blade drawn and gun pointed before him – at the same area of the hellhound. “Look up.”

“What?” Dean flicks his eyes upwards again and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees the ripple of a hellhound becoming visible on the ledge Sammy is hanging from.

Dean raises his gun up, squinting his left eye as he aims. He is about to fire when the hellhound’s maw opens wide. Wider than Dean has ever known a hellhound, dog or Black-dog to be able to open their mouths. And then it inhales; strong and deeply, the sound like a death rattle.    

Nothing happens for a long second and then Dean has to smack his hands over his ears, Cas doing the same beside him while letting out a hiss. Dean barely notices his gun catching him on the side of his head. For the cacophony of sound that sprouts from the vortex creature is like a hundred-thousand screeching voices yelling simultaneously while fingers continuously scratch up and down a blackboard all the while a jet engine fires in the background.

It is fucking painful to his eardrums. And he can just make out Sammy’s scream of pain, his kid unable to cover his ears. Dean fears for the damage that could happen to his brother’s eardrums being that close to the creature while it is screeching.

And he cannot help but watch in fascination as the strong inhalation from the hellhound’s mouth latches hold of the vortex trying to suck Sammy in and pulls. It connects the two supernatural creatures together. And then blue thickness - a cross between inky Leviathan goo and the smoke of demons - seeps out of the creature’s eye sockets; nose; mouth; ears; every orifice available and travels that connection towards the hellhound’s mouth.

And with each orifice made clear, Dean realises that he had been mistaken in thinking the creature was human-like. It _is_ human. A possessed human twisted and deformed until it only now resembles the person more as the creature is leaving it.

And if Dean was not so scared for his baby right now he would throw up at the sight of the twisted form. As it is, there is nothing he can now do for the once human life; they are passed and their soul is undoubtedly already in Heaven. Not that that is much compensation for being killed by the supernatural.

And then finally the vortex creature releases its hold on the body it was inhabiting as the last tendrils flow down the connection to be consumed by the hellhound. The force on Sammy releases as well, allowing his body to swing down vertical, only …

“NOOO!!” Dean screams as he sees what is about to happen just before it does.

Sammy’s grip on the ledge, weakened by fatigue and the energy sucked out of him, slips and releases with a surprised cry from the kid’s mouth.

And Dean can only watch in fearful horror as his world, his very existence, falls towards the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we’re clear, this story will NEVER be abandoned. It may take a while for me to get chapters out to you all, but it’s in my heart and head. I love this story just as you’ve told me you do to, so I hope you can all have patience with me. And if I am being slow a little encouragement is very welcome :)


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for awaiting this chapter so patiently, and for all of your kudos and comments. This wouldn’t be a story without all of you and your support xoxo

Biting his bottom lip, Sam shuffles his way out of his alcove to peer more clearly over the edge of the ledge. Hunter trained eyes catch movement once again and Sam sucks in a breath before once again clamping a hand over his mouth, this time to mask the sound.

His eyes follow the steady rise of something scaling the wall like it is frigging Spider-Man.

And it is no demon.

A demon would not find it necessary to climb a wall when they can just appear in front of their target. And Sam does not sense anything from it.

Shifting backwards, Sam slowly withdraws his gun from the alcove and carefully makes his way back across the ledge to the furthest point from the wall. He pushes his back up against the beam, butt on the floor, feet on the floor before him, and unsteadily aims his gun. His right hand shaking from both cold and adrenaline.

He swallows as the creature rises up before him, hovering in the air, the glow of inky blue eyes flashing with electricity staring straight at Sam. Yet, Sam has the feeling the creature isn’t physically looking at him.

Sam’s attention is swiftly drawn away from those eyes as he sees movement lower on the creature’s body. He can feel the pull of power begin, even as he tries to scramble back further as much as he can on this small ledge. Watching as weathered clothing and skin begins to twist and swirl at the creature’s tummy; quickly growing and widening into what Sam can only liken to a sideways tornado or whirlpool.

And if he wasn’t seeing it for himself right now, he doesn’t think he would believe it. No matter what he has been witness to in his life when it comes to the supernatural.

Then purple and blue and white lightning starts flashing within and across the swirling mass, matching that of the creature’s eyes. That power emanating from it strengthens, and with it comes the realisation that the sideways tornado has now grown big enough to swallow a man whole.

Sam finally fires his gun, the report echoing around him, because no way in hell has he any intention of being swallowed up today.

He watches in morbid fascination as the bullet is caught in the building swirl of the monster’s tummy and disappears from view. He swallows sharply, pulling his gun back with the realisation that the only weapon he currently possesses is unusable.

His gaze snaps back to the creature before him as he feels a forceful tug, his feet beginning to drag across the ledge.

 _No, no, no_ , Sam silently and fearfully declines the invitation to take up residence within this new monster and flips himself over. He has no time to acknowledge the pain screaming up his broken left arm, only that he needs to release his gun; the weapon slipping off the ledge while Sam scrabbles to find purchase to keep himself out of the swirling mass behind him.

Only there is nothing; his fingers scrambling over small chunks of concrete that are not attached to anything.

Within moments the force of the building vortex yanks him away from the ledge. His right hand catches on a rusted rebar jutting out the side of the thick slab of concrete and he desperately grabs on tightly; gritting his teeth as the force of his body being pulled to a semi-stop jars his shoulder. His mind fighting to stop the pain from taking over as he is forced to bring his broken arm into play once again; feeling the bones grind together as he manages to curl the fingers of his left hand around the rebar as well.

The grip is weak.

Too weak.

The hold his right hand has alone will not stand up for very long despite him giving his all to keep himself out of that freaking sideways tornado thing. But he knows the pressure building ever stronger behind him will overpower him within only minutes.

And then Sam’s adrenaline spikes higher as he hears an echo of his brother’s voice within the whirring noises from the vortex, and Sam yells out for his brother. Fearing now, not only for himself, but for his brother who could easily be sucked into this thing if the creature turns its attention to Dean.

Only a second later the fingers of his left hand slip from there weak purchase and he scrabbles to hold back on. Now unable to prevent the scared little boy inside of him from surging forwards and screaming out, “De, help me!!”

Because he cannot die like this. That thing – whatever it is – is going to take him, consume him, and then it’s going to turn around on Dean.

And that’s the least acceptable of _anything_.

The pressure is persistent, deepening and curling over his body until it feels like two giant hands are squeezing his chest, trying to crush his ribs into his lungs. He tries to draw in another breath, his body feeling like a huge and heavy weight, while his head starts to feel like its floating. His eyes start to close and he thinks words might have slipped from his lips - thinks he may have heard his brother reply - but his energy is being zapped too quickly for Sam to truly register it.

He has just enough energy left to make a silent wish for his brother to be safe, to live beyond here without doing anything stupid.

He wishes he could say goodbye.

And while he’s wishing it takes him a moment to realise the relentless and crushing weight is lifting. He is able to draw a breath and his mind starts to feel less fuzzy.

But then he lets out a cry as pain slams through him, especially in his ears as the creature starts screeching.

Is it dying?

He can only hope so.

He then swiftly turns that hope towards himself as the pressure leaves him entirely, his body swinging downwards; a surprised cry alighting from his throat as his hold slips away from the rebar and he remembers he’s sixty feet up.

He sends out a quick and silent apology to his brother, to Cas wherever he is, then he closes his eyes, feeling the rush of air around him as he plummets towards the ground. 

#

Dean stands frozen, his brain already calculating the length of time it will take him to get beneath Sam’s descent. And while not a genius at math in his head, he already knows it will take him and Cas longer than the barely six seconds it will take for Sam’s fall to come to its end. 

Dean knows he will never make it; even as his legs start to move him in that direction and his mouth opens to holler “SAMMY!!” feeling Cas moving right beside him.

Dean’s eyes are routed on only Sam.

He doesn’t want to watch, yet he can’t look away.

And then Sam suddenly jolts in mid-air as if his kid is attached to a bungee cord that had malfunctioned and forgotten to retract. Dean blinks in confusion, and before he can feel anything more – relief, concern, fucking grateful – his honed senses alert him to a presence behind him.

He spins on his heels. One hand curls around Crowley’s throat and squeezes as he forces the former crossroads demon backwards into a wall, the demon knife sailing towards Crowley’s chest.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Crowley's quick and smirking chide brings Dean to an immediate halt just as he feels the tip of the demon knife pierce through Crowley's clothing and into his skin.

Dean holds it there, tilts his head to the side slightly and glares. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end you right now?” he demands, voice low and controlled.

Crowley stares into the green eyes before him, darkened by hatred and rage and promised death. If he were a lesser demon he might be cowed by it. He has seen enough of that to know it to be true, but he's not a mongrel. He's the King of Hell. And what kind of King would he be if he didn't always carry an ace up his sleeve.

“Well …” Crowley begins, lowering his eyes slightly to the blade he can feel just piercing his vessels skin above its long dead heart, before raising them back up to meet Dean's, and intensifying his smirk. “How about… ‘killing me will insure baby brother’s demise’? But of course if that’s what …” he stops because there it is, that splendid moment of realisation flashing through Dean Winchester’s eyes. “Such a conundrum,” he points out slowly.

Dean snatches the blade away, and sets it to Crowley's throat instead. “Let him down.”

“Oh yes. I’ll release my very means of continued existence so you can kill me.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “Do be sensible, Dean. And a simple thank you would’ve sufficed.”

“You want me to thank you after trapping my brother so you could send a fucking monster after him?! To use him as BAIT!!”

“What are you blathering on about now, Dean?” Crowley questions. “It was just a couple demons …” Crowley grunts as he’s shoved hard against the wall again.

"A fucking vortex trying to swallow my brother is _not_ a couple fucking demons, Crowley!”

Dean quickly braces his hands against the wall before he can smack fully into the hard surface as Crowley disappears. He spins around, Crowley reappearing off to the side and brushing fingers against the hole in his black coat.

“This was brand new.”

Dean puts the demon knife away and instead draws out another, intent on stabbing it in the bastard’s neck this time.

“Did we not cover this already?” Crowley questions exasperatedly as Dean feels Cas’ hand squeeze his shoulder, keeping him in place. “ _I’m_ holding your brother up there. All it will take is a click of my fingers, or a thought, or a blink of an eye, and you’ll be scraping your baby Moose off the ground with a spatula. Are we all clear now?”  

“You do anything but put Sam on the ground or that ledge safely, Crowley, and I will destroy you,” Dean promises, glowering at the bastard before him.

Crowley tuts, before the smirk slips through once again, and a grunt of air leaves Dean as the familiar feel of demon power slams him in the gut like a punch. It sends him flying backwards into the wall he only moments ago held Crowley against, spasms of pain shooting across his lower back as he hits. His blade is knocked loose from his hold and clatters to the ground. Dean barely takes the time to register it all, however, as Cas slams into the wall beside him.

“Well, well, well,” Crowley smirks, almost giddily. “The angel has lost its wings. Again. You …” Crowley trails off and his eyes jump from Cas to Dean, back and forth several times, eyes narrowing as he stares. “Oh for the love of… are you KIDDING ME?!” The King of Hell exclaims, spinning on his heels and snapping his gaze up towards Sam still being held in the air. “What the BLOODY HELL did you go and fuck up this time, MOOSE?!!” Crowley’s voice rises to new heights as he yells.

“What m-makes you t-think I did a-anything, Crowley?!” Sam’s cold-stuttering voice echoes around the building, allowing all to hear him.

“Because it’s _always_ you _screwing_ things up!”     

“I take o-offence to that!” Sam responds without showing that Crowley’s words have had any impact, even though they hit him right in the chest. After all, Crowley’s right. There’s always something Sam’s screwing up. Hell, the very reason they are here is because of Sam’s recent screw up. Same with the reason they are on the road hunting Rowena. “But hey,” he continues regardless, “if what-whatever you t-think I’ve d-done is p-pissing you off this m-much, Crowley, then you’re w-welcome!”

Dean cannot help the amused snort that escapes as the echo of his baby brother’s words reach him. “What bugs crawled up your ass this time, Crowley?”

Crowley turns back to face Dean and Cas still pinned to the wall by way of his powers. He looks them both up and down, his glare twisting further. “I can’t smell the Mark of Cain on you any longer, Squirrel. But I _can_ still smell Knight of Hell power. Power that left you when Giraffe up there fed you human blood and turned you back. Meaning you’d have had to have become a demon again at some point in the past two months.”

Dean remains straight faced and silent. Neither showing nor revealing the truth behind Crowley’s words.

“And as for _you_ ,” Crowley jabs a short finger towards Cas, and Dean can feel the former-angel’s tension in the arm brushing his own. “I can’t smell that filthy grace anymore. But you, too, have power. And both of you are holding those powers as humans.”

Dean really wants to grin at the confusion coating Crowley’s tone. But then Crowley turns around once again to face Sam.    

“And you, Moose …”

“Hey!” Dean barks. “Point your demonic eyes over here, Crowley.” Crowley turns back in Dean and Cas’ direction with a roll of his eyes. “Why the hell are you doing this?”

“That’s a very good question, Dean. Because, of course… I _had_ planned on a more subtle method.” Crowley flashes his cell phone.

“Then why the hell didn’t you call?”

“Oh, but I did. Called you both even. Sadly, I received no response and I had to enact plan B.”

“The phone was on and I didn’t get a call from you, asshat.”

“Well you wouldn’t when something’s interfering with it.”

“Enough with being cryptic, Crowley,” Cas growls. “What are you speaking of?”

Crowley sighs. He moves to stand before them, holding up his phone so they can both clearly view the screen reading ‘Not Moose’; the contact Dean knows full well the dick assigned to his number. Crowley presses the call button. And with his phone in his pocket, charged and switched on, Dean waits for it to rumble against his thigh before the ringtone sounds, but nothing happens.

Yet Crowley’s phone is calling Dean’s. And when Crowley shuts off that call and proceeds to call Cas’ cell too, the result is the same.

“What’s that supposed to prove to us, Crowley? That you’re as lousy with technology as you are at being the King of Hell? So I ask you again. Why the fuck are you doing this? To get Rowena? Newsflash, Crowley, we were already hunting the fucking bitch!”

“Oh, I’m quite aware of that, Squirrel. But a little incentive never hurts to speed things along.” And with a click of Crowley’s fingers, Dean and Cas can only watch as Sam is jerked forward and rolled over so he's hanging upside down.

Sam starts to revolve like a human spinning top and then the demons come.

Two long snake-like masses of black smoke, twisting and twirling around Sammy, who by the twitches of his right hand and feet is trying to jerk away, but Crowley's hold is still keeping him up there, spinning. Sammy’s mouth suddenly snaps wide open against his will and he's choking as one of the two demons shoves itself down his throat.

Their worst fears coming to fruition as Sammy is so thoroughly unprotected. And Dean makes a silent promise that when this is over – and it will be over because that demon is not going to make itself comfortable – Dean will knock Sam out if that's what it takes to put the kid back in a tattoo chair. There won't be any begging or crying to get out of it. Not after this.

“Stop this, Crowley!” Cas demands as he and Dean struggle against their invisible bonds, to no avail.  

Crowley half-turns towards them, smirk still in place. “Why?”

With a click of his fingers, the demon smoke pouring into Sam reverses nearly all the way out, before going back in and all the while Crowley watches Dean with that smirk. And Dean wants to close his eyes to it; to what the motion of Crowley’s bastard demon is alluding to.

“Crowley, stop this! If you want Rowena so much just go get the fucking bitch! Leave Sam out of it!”

“Leaving the Moose out of it would be slightly counterproductive to my plan, Dean.”

“ _What_ plan, Crowley?”

“The one where you denim-wearing lapdogs go play fetch. Did I not mention that already? You hunt my mother down and hand her straight over to my demons, without talking to her, and I’ll leave Samantha alone. And if you refuse, well then… I don’t mind breaking a few more of Moose’s bones. He has so many. And see …” Crowley approaches Dean, and leans forward towards his ear, “… my boys up there are hankering to be the ones to wear Sam Winchester. To use him up until he’s just a dry husk and then spit him out. And I can take him wherever he is, whenever I like. Just one snap of my fingers and that sweet innocence is _all_ mine.”

A protective and possessive growl rumbles from deep in Dean's chest, pissed as all hell, but all Crowley does is laugh as he pulls back with a glance at Cas.

“Or maybe I'll just keep Moose anyway until I have what I want.”

Another click of Crowley’s fingers and the second demon joins the first, Sam’s mouth being forced open impossibly wider.

“Stop!” Dean snaps harshly. “Just stop.” Crowley snaps his fingers and his demons withdraw from Sam, who sags down like a rag-doll as the demons back off. Crowley looks at Dean expectantly. “We’ll do it. We’ll find your whore of a mother.” That smirk begins to form on Crowley’s lips and Dean intends to wipe it off. “But if I see one demon trailing her or us… if you or they come anywhere near Sam or his bones suddenly break…” and Dean is going to find out what Crowley is talking about there, “… then all bets are off and I will come for you. I don’t give a fuck who you are or what your death might start, Crowley. I _will_ end you.”

Crowley is silent, just staring at Dean. “Deal. But just so we’re clear, you have two weeks.”

“Four.”

“Does this sound like a negotiation? You have two weeks. Or all bets will be off on _my_ end of the deal.”

Knowing he can do nothing else, Dean nods to Crowley’s terms. “Now let Sam down, take your hellhounds and get the fuck outta here." 

Crowley frowns at him. “Don’t recall bringing any hellhounds with me.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at the shimmer beyond Crowley, the hellhound making its appearance to prove Crowley’s words wrong. Only as it appears fully, Dean realises he’s the one that is wrong as he gets his first up close view of the beast that saved Sam from that vortex thing. Because this mutt doesn’t have the pure black and sleek fur or red eyes of a hellhound, and actually more resembles a massive wolf. Its snout is long and its fur is black and white, almost blending into grey as it shifts. And its eyes are an ice-blue that makes it look even more vicious than a hellhound.  

And then it opens its jaws and buries its teeth into Crowley’s ass and Dean is hard-pressed not to laugh when Crowley lets out a squeal resembling that of a little girl. Releasing Crowley, the mutt backs off and Crowley spins around with a snarl, one hand covering his ass, and one leg hooked back to kick out at the mutt.

But Crowley stops.

“That’s not possible,” it’s a murmur Dean barely catches and he frowns at the fear he hears behind it, gaze tracking from Crowley to the snarling mutt, whose buddy now appears off to the side. Slightly smaller, and lighter furred, but still as vicious looking with those ice-blue eyes ringed dark black. “It’s not possible,” Crowley repeats.

“What?” Dean and Cas finally snap together.

“The deal stands,” Crowley snarls at Dean and Cas before promptly disappearing.

Before Dean can even blink, the pressure of Crowley’s power relents and even as he’s slamming into the ground, his gaze is focused upwards on Sam. He breathes a sigh of relief to see the kid no longer hanging in the air, but safely back on the ledge and clinging to the nearest concrete beam. Though as Cas gives him a hand to his feet, Dean frowns at the sight of Sammy heaving over the side, and nothing but bile coming up by the looks of it.

“Sammy?!” Dean yells up at him as his kid finally straightens and uses his sleeve to wipe over his mouth.

“I’m …” the kid gags and coughs, “‘M’kay, D-Dean,” Sammy responds, scratchy voice echoing off the walls. “You both g-good?”

“Yeah, kiddo, we’re fine!” Knowing his kid is safe, though sixty feet up, Dean turns his attention to the mutts only to find them gone. “Where’d they go?”

Cas turns also, glancing around. “I do not know. But, Dean, they were not hellhounds.”

“Yeah, got that. But how’d they do the invisible thing? Thought that was a trait inherent to hellhounds and, you know, leprechauns.”

Cas’ forehead deepens into a frown. “It is.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Well, whatever. We’ll figure that out later. Along with whatever the fuck that creature was. Right now …” Dean turns his gaze back up to his brother, “… we need to figure out how to get our little boy down.”

“We should also burn …” Cas gestures at the body lying not ten feet in front of them that had been possessed by the creature, “… err… that.”

Dean frowns, but really can’t hold it against Cas for identifying the body as such. Because despite some of the human appearance having been returned after the creature was forced out, the body is still twisted too badly to even identify it as male or female.  

“Yeah, we should do that,” Dean responds lightly.

# 

Sam rests his forehead against the coolness of the concrete beam he is once again clinging to, even as his wet clothes ratchets cold throughout his body. His throat is raw and burns as if he had downed molten hot lava. And he wishes he could say he doesn't recognise that feeling, but he remembers all too clearly how it feels when demon smoke invades and leaves his body.

It's something he thought he wouldn't have to face again with the protection tattoo. But then he lost that and he had been an idiot all this time to think he could get away without having it.

Closing his eyes, Sam steadfastly bites back the sob that wants to release from his pained throat. Tears won't help him. Or Dean and Cas below.

As it is, he can only be grateful that the creature hadn't blown out his eardrums with its dying screeches. He cannot lie and say his ears aren't hurting because they are. The twinges of pain are shooting into his jaw and giving him a slight headache that had not been helped by being hung upside down, spun around like a carnival ride and invaded by those fucking demons. He can feel trickles of fluid that he suspects is blood coming from his ears, running both into his hair and down his cheeks, so he knows it was definitely a close call.

He needs to know if the people at the library are safe. But he knows that is probably best left to when they’re not having to yell sixty feet at each other and relying on the echo of their voices bouncing off the walls to communicate.

“Sam?!”

 _Though I guess Dean’s happy to do so_ , Sam thinks before responding as much as he can through his scratchy throat and the cold shaking his body. “Ye’h?”

“You got something broken up there?!” Dean asks.

“L-lots of things b-broke up here, Dean!” He calls back, trying to deflect the question.

“Sam!”

Sam would unfortunately be amiss not to recognise the warning in his name. And though he is unsure exactly what Dean thinks he can do with the distance separating them, he doesn't underestimate Dean's ability to surprise him. He will not chance the possibility that Dean might suddenly and accidentally develop the power to telepathically swat Sam’s behind. And he would really rather not experience a major headache or pass out on top of everything else today.

“Crowley b-broke my left a-arm!” Sam supplies. There is a moment of silence and Sam can almost taste the anger radiating from the two men below. He calls out before either Dean or Cas can start venting that anger, “Guys, I’m o-okay! C-cold, but o-okay. Just, um… g-g-get me down?”

“We’re working on that, Sam!” Cas calls up and Sam need not be a genius to know he’s currently the calmer of the two below.

“Hey, Cas!” Sam calls out tiredly and as loudly as he can, grateful the former-angel had postponed his journey to Vancouver to be here to have Dean’s back.

“Hello, Little One!” Cas replies, and Sam can hear the gentle smile behind the words. “Please hold on!”

“Uh-huh,” Sam mumbles, because that’s kind of the obvious thing to do at the moment.

And he doesn’t mean to be bitchy but … he frowns lightly as he feels wobbling beneath his left boot.

Glancing down, his eyes widen and he hurriedly moves to the right as a crack tears its way across the left-hand side of the ledge. Undoubtedly weakened by the pressure from the creature, Sam watches in trepidation as the chunk of concrete breaks away from the whole.

“L-Look out!” he yells in warning to Dean and Cas.

# 

Still trying to quell his scorching anger, Dean looks up at his baby brother’s yell, hastily grabbing Cas and shoving them both out of the way of the hunk of falling concrete. He winces, his heart heavy as it falls directly onto the body they were going to move, the sound of crushing bones reverberating through his skull.

He shares a look with Cas as they rise back to their feet. Cas shakes his head, confirming his own knowledge; the body is no longer salvageable to move for burning. They’ll have to set it alight before they vacate and just hope the rest of the building doesn’t go with it. Though Dean’s honestly not fussed if it does. It wouldn’t be the first building he’s had to burn.

“Sam?!”

“S-still here,” his kid responds shakily. “But I d-don’t know h-how long this l-ledge is g-gonna hold out! That-that thing w-weakened it!”       

"Alright, Sammy! Just hang in there!"

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean scurries around in the debris of the ruined building, looking for something, anything, which will help him get up to his baby brother, or bring Sammy down to them. But Cas… Cas is just standing there, staring up at Sammy and murmuring nonsense about gravity and shit.

“Cas!” Dean barks, getting fed up. "A little help here?" He gestures around at all the crap littering the floor, skirting the pile of rubble now housing the body. “There's gotta be somethin’ here we can use to fashion a kinda platform or a fucking pyramid even …”

“That will not be necessary, Dean.”

Dean stills his search, rises straight and turns to his partner, a glare decorating his face. "And why the fuck not?" 

"Because you and I are going to catch him."

"Why didn't I think of that? Oh, right! Because Sammy's a six-foot-four, hundred-something-or-other pound person who pretty fucking recently proved he can't frigging fly!" Dean hisses out angrily, stepping in closer to his partner to hopefully prevent the echo of their voices talking about this ridiculous notion reaching his kid.

“It is unnecessary for Sam to be able to fly for us to catch him,” Cas responds bluntly with a frown, his calmness now pissing Dean off, even though earlier in the day it was all he had wanted from the other man. “You are forgetting what you are capable of now, Dean.” Cas sighs at Dean's lack of reaction. “Have you not been carrying that hundred-something-or-other pound person around in your arms as if he weighs nothing for weeks now?"

Dean closes his eyes. Shit. Between his fear of Sam being sucked into a freaking vortex, the kid’s near plunge to his death and Crowley showing up, Dean had completely forgotten he has a lot more than human strength inside of him now.

“The drop will only add a few extra pounds to what Sam's weight usually feels like to you and I," Cas continues.

Dean opens his eyes, turning his gaze up to his brother clinging to the column. “A baby bird into an eagle,” he murmurs a guess as to how many extra pounds the drop will add to his earlier bird analogy for the feel of his baby brother’s weight in his arms.

He hears a sharp intake of breath beside him as he sucks in his own air. Another portion of the ledge Sammy is standing on just crumbled away, the kid hugging himself closer to the beam once more as he calls out for Dean and Cas.

“Hang on, Sammy!” Dean yells up at him, his echoing words once again allowing them the ability to communicate with his boy despite their distance.

"… R-really… much else… d-do right n-now, D-Dean," Sam returns, and Dean can detect the edge of fear between the chattering teeth of each stuttered word that reaches him.

Dean turns back to Cas. “Are you sure we can do this?” he whispers urgently. “Because if you’re not absolutely one-thousand percent sure on this, Cas, we’re finding another way.”

“You said it yourself, Dean, there is no other way. You already ruled out the fire department, scaling the building inside or out or climbing the pillars.” Cas is the one who gestures around at the crap littering the ground this time. “Nothing here will be useful and I don’t think calling Crowley back here is an option, do you?”

Dean hates that Cas is right and his idea is looking to be their only resort. Because asking his baby brother to jump off a fucking ledge sixty feet in the air and trust Dean and Cas - who probably look just slightly larger than freaking cats or something on the ground to Sam right now - to fucking catch him?

Fuck, they have done some crazy shit, but this… Dean scrubs his hands through his hair, indecision weighing within him. Because he knows this choice rests on his shoulders. If he gives Cas an outright ‘no’ right now, Cas will help find another way and won’t mention anything to Sam. And Dean knows Sam should be the one making the decision, but he is not going to place that weight on his scared kid’s shoulders.

So it is up to Dean.  

“Fine,” the word of agreement tumbles out in a rush. He clears his throat and tries again. “Okay. We’ll do it. But you’re telling him.”

“Very well,” Cas inclines his head briefly, before raising his gaze upwards. “Sam!” Cas calls, grateful for the echo the building affords. Otherwise he and Dean would not have a means of communicating with their little one. “We need you to fall!”

“What kinda telling him was that?” Dean hisses so Sam cannot hear him.

“Y-you need m-me to _w-what_?!” Sam stutters, the cold feeling as if it is eating into his bones, and refusing to believe his latter words came out more of a shriek than a yell.

“He _means_ …” Dean stresses, and Sam knows his brother is shooting a glare at the former-angel for his usual bluntness. “… We’re going to catch you! But you need to fall from the ledge for that to happen!”

Sam blinks into the wide open space surrounding him. _Did I hear that correctly?_ _They want me to fall from this freaking ledge AGAIN?_

Dean and Cas glance at one another. After a moment they come to the silent and unanimous decision to start kicking and shoving away debris from the area they need to stand to give Sam a moment to wrap his head around what they are asking of him. It seems inevitable that they will more than likely end up on the floor, and they would rather not have anything closely surrounding them that could cause harm, especially to Sammy.

That is if Sammy can take that leap and trust Dean and Cas to safely catch him.

#

Sam is being asked to play the ultimate trust game here. A sixty foot drop of trust. And if it was anyone else but Dean and Cas down there Sam's immediate response would be, 'Fuck no! Are you outta your mind?'

But it _is_ his brother and Cas down there and Sam trusts them both with his life. And if they weren't even one hundred percent sure they could catch him, this crazy idea wouldn't even have made a blip on the radar of options.

However, all Sam’s eyes can see is a gaping hole in the ground amidst the slightly over-grown grass of an old cemetery. Lucifer trying to gain back control of Sam’s body before Sam can throw them down that hole into the Cage waiting below. The sight of his broken and bloodied brother reminding Sam that he had never been alone (that Dean had always been there for him and never let him down) the only thing helping Sam to keep Lucifer at that wavering edge of Sam’s control. While he prayed for all he was worth that he would not let his brother down again. That he could at least do this one thing right and put an end to the apocalypse he brought on the world.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath. The sound of his brother and Cas’ voices bringing him back to the present and away from painful memories. They do not have time for Sam to get lost in his head; in the memories of worse than shit times when everything was fractured.

Dean is here; he is whole. Sam is whole. Cas is whole. Something is going on with all of them, but they’ll figure that out. And Sam has to get his butt moving for them to do that. 

“Okay, I c-can do i-it!” Sam calls down his agreement.

Dean and Cas both say something, but the echo meshes the words together too much for Sam to understand them clearly. But he gets the gist. It can only be their own agreement after all. Or maybe praise for being a big brave boy. Something Sam’s not sure he is feeling right now.

Because is he being a brave boy if all he wants is for Dean to sprout wings and fly up here and fold Sam tight in his arms and fly them down to the ground?

That would be sensible and logical, right?

Sam shakes his head.

Carefully turning himself around in the limited space, while still holding onto the beam with numb fingers is a little difficult, but he manages it. Now he just needs to let himself fall backwards and plummet six storeys.

All in a day's work.

Yep, he does this kind of shit every day.

_I’m brave as hell._

Except there was no being brave in Hell. Just a whole lot of screaming.

Sam swallows heavily as he glances downwards. He quickly looks away, slamming his eyes closed and feeling for sure the ground is even further away than last he looked.

He's never been afraid of heights, but forcing himself off a freaking ledge?

Backwards at that?

He definitely doesn't have enough adrenaline running through his system for this.

In fact, right in this second, he's pretty sure the blood in his veins has become liquid fear instead.

Of course the other option is to just wait here for the small ledge to give way fully, then he'll have no choice in plummeting back down to solid ground.

If he doesn't starve or freeze to death first.

“Sammy… take a breath, kiddo! You can do this. You've jumped through a stained glass window before with a good ol' drop the other side. This is a much better scenario.”

“Tell t-that to my b-brain, De,” Sam mumbles through his chattering teeth.

It is obvious to Sam that Dean believes this is a better scenario than when they took a dive out of a two-storey church window together, only because this time around Dean is down there to catch Sam. Rather than facing Sam hitting the ground alongside him. Hell, if Dean could have managed it and despite their discordance back then, his brother would have more than likely placed himself under Sam before they hit ground. Always believing he should be the one hurt rather than Sam.

One of these days his big brother might realise that Dean hurting doesn't help Sam in the slightest. It is in fact far worse to see his big brother - his hero - hurting than being hurt himself. Especially if it is _because_ of Sam that Dean is hurt. Which is more often the case.

“Sammy?!”

“I-I’m okay!” Sam calls down to reassure the two waiting below, even though his heart is pounding a fast rhythm against his rib cage.  

And he really wishes he could put his arms out either side of him. But with his broken arm, it is safer if he tucks them into his sides as much as he can manage. It will also offer less chance of flailing limbs hitting Dean and Cas. His entire body will be bad enough if they have misjudged their strength. He could squish them both into pancakes.

 _Jeez, brain, you are really not helping here_, Sam scolds his own mind as he tamps down on the fear wanting to invade.

“Whenever you are ready, Sam!” Cas calls up. “We are here!”

Sam nods jerkily, even though he knows his brother and Cas probably can’t see it. However, he’s not sure talking would be a good idea right now lest his courage makes a play for escape through his mouth.

First ensuring his broken arm is tucked tightly into his side to best prevent further injury to the limb, Sam takes a deep breath as his brother had instructed.

He slowly releases it and again has to remind himself there is no Cage awaiting him at the end of this fall; no beaten and blooded big brother he's leaving behind; no red mist that was the only remnant Lucifer left of Cas.

There is none of that in the here and now.

Just safety awaiting him below.

A healthy and whole brother.

A breathing and present Cas. 

Both standing strong; willing and waiting to catch him.

Sam has to remind himself of that as he closes his eyes and let’s himself fall backwards before his fear can overtake him, while silently praying Dean and Cas haven’t misjudged their own strength.

#

Watching with bated breath as his brother readies himself to make the plunge, Dean suddenly and involuntarily flashes back to the painful memories of a cemetery in Lawrence. A hole in the ground created by four rings and an incantation. Sammy opening his arms wide and readying himself to take a backwards plunge into Hell, to take Lucifer back to the Cage.

And if Dean’s mind has gone there, you can bet your ass Sammy’s has too. The kid does not need those memories lashing him and Dean can only hope this reminder doesn’t bring back the worst of the nightmares. Not on top of the ones Sam’s already been suffering lately.

Then Sam moves. And time slows.

His baby brother looks as if he is falling within a black hole, his body suspended in mid-air, moving only a fraction with every millisecond.

It feels like forever before Sammy’s booted feet fully leave the crumbling ledge.

And all the while Dean feels as if his heart is beating in his throat.

And then time speeds up.

His baby brother, _his kid_ , is free-falling.

And Sammy doesn’t make a sound.

The only sound is the air flapping the kid’s shirts around; an intruding noise in the face of Sammy’s silence.

In the face of Dean and Cas’ tense silence.  

Hell, Dean can’t think, let alone speak.

Can’t breathe.

All he can do is wait.

Wait for the thud.

The weight and feel of his kid in his arms.

Sammy, alive and breathing.

Even if the force of his impact knocks them on their asses.

But Dean and Cas have already ensured Sam is cradled safely in their arms between them, their bodies cushioning his fall, before they even hit solid ground.

A hush falls over the desolate building, save for the harsh breathing coming from the three bodies as they lay where they fell. The filthy ground beneath them, and limbs sprawled under or over each other, but sheer relief flowing through them.

“Well that was awesome,” Dean comments, amidst his chest heaving and wavering adrenaline, masking the fact he had been shit scared that this would not work despite Cas’ reassurances to the contrary. He feels his brother and Cas’ incredulous eyes on him and his lips quirk into a small grin. “We’re just not gonna repeat it anytime soon,” he adds as he carefully disentangles himself from his Sammy’s long limbs.

“I would prefer never again,” Cas remarks.

Dean shrugs, pushing himself upright. _Never again sounds pretty good to me too_ , he thinks as he pulls his kid up with him while Cas sits himself up. He moves to bring Sammy tighter against him; just needing to feel the kid safe and sound in his arms for just a second before he starts in on injury inspection, but Sam presses a shaky hand against Dean’s chest, pushing himself backwards to look at Dean.  

“We a-all know the drill, Dean. You g-gotta test me,” Sam informs them, still shivering from the cold and the wet clothes sticking to him.

“Sammy, there’s no …”

“Dean.”

His name is a plea, and the eyes staring at him are insistent, the kid just wanting peace of mind. And Sammy has every right to know it is only him occupying his body; as do Dean and Cas.

Because as much as Dean doesn’t want to think about the possibility, and what it would do to Sammy to know it has happened again, they do need to be sure. Demons had invaded the kid and though they had departed Sam’s body on Crowley’s orders, there is no telling how many could have been present before Dean and Cas even arrived.

“Okay. Alright, kiddo.”

Gratefulness washes the insistence out of Sam’s eyes as soon as the words leave Dean’s mouth and his fingers unconsciously curl into the front of Dean’s shirt. Dean does not shift them as he digs out his flask of holy-water from his inner pocket; Sam needs that small comfort at the moment.

Cas brushes a hand down the back of Sam’s head and the kid blinks, turning his head to look at the former-angel. Cas holds out a small torn-open sachet of salt and Sam opens his mouth, waiting for Cas to tip up the sachet and deliver the salt. Sam grimaces and Dean quickly places the lisp of the flask to his lips and tips it up, the kid rapidly swallowing the holy-water down.

Sam’s mouth and person does not start smoking, black eyes do not make themselves known, and Dean eases the flask down after Sam takes another mouthful and pulls it away.

“Urgh,” Sammy’s entire body shakes even more as he sticks his tongue out against the awful taste of the salt. “That’ll f-forever be nasty.” Even as he says it, the kid releases his grip on Dean to hold out his right arm.

“Sam, I think that was proof enough,” Cas says, understanding the meaning behind the move.

“Not if it’s a d-demon i-immune to holy-water and s-salt, Cas,” Sam retorts.

Dean sighs; they really need to get the kid out of here and warmed up. But with a flick of his fingers, the button on Sam’s shirt cuff is undone and he rolls the sleeve up slightly. He then uses the demon knife to make a small nick against Sam’s inner right arm.

Because Sam is right.

There may be levels of demons immune to holy-water and salt, but the level of demon that would have had to have shoved its way down Sam’s throat would not be immune to the knife. Only a few are; demons of a higher level. And Crowley is not stupid enough to let a higher level demon out of hell to possess Sam Winchester of all people.

“Oww,” Sammy yelps the moment the knife pierces his skin, before quickly biting down on his trembling lower lip to mask it as he does his best not to flinch away from the sting.  

“Sorry, baby,” Dean apologises as he lifts the knife away from Sam’s skin, guilt biting at his chest for having to hurt his little boy to show the kid he is not possessed.

And as much as Dean knows it is necessary, that knowledge never makes it any easier to do the things that are for his kid’s own good. Whether it be nicking Sam with a knife, swatting his behind, taking his temperature or feeding him medicine that is disgusting, that niggling of guilt is still always there.

And thankfully as expected the cut on Sammy’s arm does not come alive with an orange glow and the relief from all three of them is palpable.

Pulling a bandana out from a pocket, Dean quickly wraps it around the wound and ties it off. He places his hands either side of Sammy’s neck, thumbs resting on his kid’s jawline as he gently lifts Sam’s dropped head back up to look at him. Sam’s watery eyes dart everywhere but Dean.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” Dean instructs gently, and finally Sammy’s eyes meet his. “There’s no demon inside you, Sammy,” Dean clarifies. “You hearing me? No demon.”

Sam collapses forward, burying his face into Dean’s chest, his shaking becoming all the more pronounced. And it only takes a fraction of a second for Dean to recognise Sammy has given into his tears.

Dean wraps his little boy in his arms, ensuring the broken arm is safe between them, before holding on tightly. Cas shuffles across the floor, cocooning Sam in from behind and lends his weight, both literally and figuratively to the reassurance and comfort.

“We gotcha, baby,” Dean murmurs, the hand resting at the back of Sam’s neck giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “We gotcha. You’re okay.”

“You’re safe now, Little One,” Cas croons against Sam’s ear, pressing a kiss to the side of Sam’s head.

 _Yeah, safe now_ , Dean thinks as he gets a good grip on his crying boy and pushes himself up to standing, Sam’s legs automatically winding around Dean’s waist. And as he carries his kid out of the building, Cas leading the way with angel blade and gun at the ready, Dean cannot help but wonder how long that safety will last.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sam jolts to awareness as he feels Dean shift him around. The next second he’s being set down on the front seat of the Impala, the leather welcoming. Dean slides in beside him, bodily – carefully – shifting Sam further across the front seat to the passenger side.

It is only then that Sam realises his working hand is still curled into Dean’s jacket in a vice grip; only then that he realises his face is wet with tears.

Sam hears the passenger door open, and the driver door close. The throbbing in his skull making itself known. He can only hope it’s a result of being so cold and wet for hours, and the creature’s dying screeching, and not a building migraine. They can knock him for six for days. Not unlike the headaches he experienced when Dean or Cas were using their powers.

An unintentional whimper of panic leaves Sam’s throat when Dean carefully shifts him around so he’s facing Cas stood in the open passenger door.    

“Shh, you’re okay, Sammy. I gotcha, baby,” Dean murmurs against his ear soothingly, a hand splaying against Sam’s tummy and pressing him back against Dean’s chest.

It gives him the immediate comfort and stability he needs within the strength of his big brother’s arms, while his hand still holds a vice-grip on Dean’s jacket. His other arm rests uselessly against his own chest, where he thinks it has remained since his fall. He certainly doesn’t remember feeling that intense burning pain shooting all throughout his arm since before the fall.

“Cas is gonna secure your arm, Sammy,” Dean informs him and Sam blinks at Cas.

The former-angel gives him a reassuring smile as he leans into the car, resting one knee on the seat while the other foot remains outside on the ground. Their thick army-green blanket is draped over his left shoulder. In one hand he holds a white emergency sling; in the other an unopened box of Children’s Tylenol along with a medicine spoon.

Cas slips the medicine spoon in his shirt pocket, spoon end facing upwards. The bottle of Tylenol is set on the seat near Sam’s hip. Dean reaches out and takes the blanket from Cas’ shoulder, spreading it out and over Sam’s legs for Cas to tuck around them.

Then with an efficiency born of Dean’s teaching and having had Sam as a practise dummy on several occasions, Cas gets to work fastening the sling securely around Sam’s left arm with minimal jarring to the injured limb. Sam feels his hair shifted out of the way and Cas leans further inside the car to tie off the two ends around his neck.

“Is that comfortable, Little One?” Cas questions, leaning back again.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hums, feeling Dean’s fingers at the back of his neck adjusting the position of the knot.

Cas picks up the Tylenol box and removes the bottle. Giving it a quick, but rough shake, he opens it and pours the liquid into the medicine spoon. He holds it to Sam’s mouth and Sam parts his lips, happily accepting the grape liquid as Cas tips the spoon up, emptying the contents into Sam’s mouth. Cas gives him another spoonful before returning the bottle to the box and sticking the medicine spoon inside with it.

“We need to get out of here, Sammy. You set to go, bud?”

Sam nods sleepily, and readies himself for the warmth of his brother to disappear when he has to sit up. “J-just o-one thing,” he whispers, his voice still shaky with cold.

“What’s that, bud?” Dean questions softly, hand brushing back Sam’s hair out of his face.

Sam’s answer is to release his hold on Dean’s jacket and shove two fingers inside his brother’s shirt pocket. He’s hoping it’s in there, and when he feels the plastic and brushes the silicone bulb, he pulls away in victory with his puppy pacifier clutched between his fingers.

He’s about to stick it in his mouth when Cas catches his wrist. He glares at the former-angel standing in the way of him and his soother, a soft whine leaving his lips as he tries to pull out of Cas’ grip.

“Hold on, Little One. It is just a bit of a fluff ball,” Cas tells him, voice reassuring, while Dean leans forward and captures the bulb of the pacifier between his own lips.

He gives a few quick sucks before pulling away and guides Sam’s hand still holding the pacifier up to Sam’s mouth. The nipple slides between Sam’s lips and Sam sighs in relief, that gnawing need extinguishing with each forceful suckle upon the silicone. And as he returns his hand to its vice-like grip on Dean’s jacket, Sam’s only thought right then is of how much of an idiot he was to have given the thing back to Dean that morning.

His body is still trembling from the combination of both cold and fear. Fear he can now allow himself to feel in his brother and Cas’ presence and care. So when Dean starts the engine and keeps Sam tight against his side by way of the strong arm around him, Sam doesn’t protest.

He just lets himself be held, absorbing the comfort Dean’s offering. Let’s his slowing tears wet Dean’s jacket. Let’s his brother take his fear.

“Won’t be long before we’re at the hospital, Sammy.”

His brother mentioning that hated place slams Sam out of his drowsiness. “No ho’pi’al,” he stresses quickly around his pacifier, once again releasing his hold on Dean’s jacket to grasp his hand instead. “C’s.” Sam gives his brother’s hand a squeeze, expressing the skin to skin contact they have without saying it.

“No, Sam,” Dean and Cas immediately and adamantly express in tandem, their understanding of what he’s asking swift.

“I’d like nothing more than for Cas to be able to heal you, kiddo, but its outta the question. Not with our powers having the effect they have on you, Sammy.”

“B’t…” Sam stops when Dean pulls the pacifier from his mouth, his lips chasing after it. Sam tilts his head back to glare up at his brother.

“But?” Dean prompts.

Sam lowers his gaze and continues voicing what he was going to say, seeing as it looks like he isn’t getting his pacifier back until he does. “But we’ve gotta get after Rowena.”

“I know, bud. And we will. But we're getting your arm seen to and your body and mind protected from possession. _That_ is our first priority over looking for that bitch right now.” Dean’s tone speaks of how much Sam is not to argue against that planned course of action.

No matter how much Sam wants to.

“And have a _discussion_ with our little boy,” Cas reminds, Sam’s kidnapping having clearly not addled his mind to the memory of Sam’s misbehaviour that led to this mess.

Sam wriggles uncomfortably at the reminder of his impending punishment, a faint blush heating his cheeks. He wants to ask if the hairbrush is going to be coming into the picture at any point during that punishment, but he doesn’t want to bring it up. Just in case Dean hasn’t even thought about it.

“Somewhere in there we’ll get to that discussion,” Dean firmly let’s both of them know, strong yet gentle arms stilling Sam’s movements.

“‘M not little boy,” Sam feels it necessary to remind them.

"You certainly behaved like one this morning, young man. Running off like that.”

Sam cannot prevent the fresh well of tears from spilling over at Cas’ scolding tone. Not right now. Not after everything. So much for trying to tell them he’s not a little boy.      

“I just said now’s not the time for this, Cas,” Dean’s rebukes, his tone resolute. And conveying an end to any further scolding Cas may feel like expressing right now.

A moment later Cas acquiesces to Dean’s authority on the issue, the guilt in his voice prominent as he says, “Of course, Dean. I apologise, Little One.”

“S’kay,” Sam responds, wanting to appease Cas and reassure him that it is.

Even if the tears are still steadily trailing down Sam’s cheeks and his breath is hitching. He is just being a stupid baby. And the stupid tears just want to keep coming. He sniffles, rubbing his face against Dean’s chest to try and brush away the liquid wetting it.

“Shh, don’t worry about any of that for now, kiddo,” Dean tells him, the man’s hand rubbing circles over his back. Sam’s pacifier enters his field of vision and is held in front of his mouth for Sam to immediately latch onto. “Just try and sleep,” Dean continues, “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

His grip tightens on Dean’s jacket with fear when his big brother shifts. The logical part of his brain understands the man is just getting a little more comfortable behind the wheel to start driving one handed. But that little boy inside that Sam can no longer seem to stop surfacing is quietly screaming ‘don’t leave me!’  

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Dean is quick to reassure, understanding Sam's silent plea as his movement ceases. “I’m right here. I gotcha. Just close your eyes.”

Sam’s eyes flutter closed almost against his will at the soft direction and the comforting feel of fingers scratching gently at his scalp. He suckles his pacifier. A short nap does sound really good right now. And he’s being helped along by the sound of his life’s most treasured lullaby; the familiar and steady bah-boom of Dean’s heartbeat beneath his ear.

“He’s out,” Dean says quietly a minute later, feeling and hearing Sam’s breathing even out into sleep. “You good to do this?” He questions Cas, eyes flickering to the building briefly.

“Yes. I’ll retrieve the needed items from the trunk, then I will deal with the body and meet you back at the motel,” Cas informs him just as quietly, absently tucking the blanket about Sam’s legs one more time.

“No, meet us at the clinic I'm taking him to. Give me your phone,” Dean lifts his arm from around Sam and holds out his hand for the item. “We can’t trust Crowley to hold up his end …” he takes the phone held out to him from Cas and inputs coordinates into the street map app on his partner’s phone as he continues to speak. “… And he won’t trust us to hold up ours. He’ll have eyes on us, even if they don’t belong to his demons. I’d prefer to have Sam protected as much as possible. And that means both of us.” Dean holds the phone back out to Cas who takes it and frowns down at it. “Just hit the yellow button when you’re ready to set out, it’ll lead you to the clinic.”

“Very well,” Cas responds, pocketing his phone. “I will be as quick as possible.”

“Make sure there’s nothing left to find.” 

Cas nods grimly, and with one last glance down at Sam, closes the passenger door.

 

**#SPN#**

 

From the furthest side of the building ice-blue eyes silently watch as the impala rumbles down the street. The two massive beasts duck back quickly when the remaining human humming with angel grace turns towards the building and goes inside.

 _Bear will not be pleased we are just letting them go_ , the smaller of the two wolf-like beasts communicates telepathically to its companion.

 _Bear will be greater displeased when he is informed this thing has escaped its prison_, the larger shoots back in the same manner, feeling the pressure pushing against his insides. The creature he swallowed to save the youngest Winchester trying to escape its new confine.

_And what of the one inside the building?_

_He is of no threat to us. Come_ , the larger commands, _we have bigger fish to cage_.

 _Fry_ , the smaller corrects.

 _Hush_ , the larger snaps as they both turn and disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry if Crowley’s speech or him came across as OOC – I find him the hardest to write (along with Cas actually), but I hope I did him justice.


	16. Chapter Sixteen Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait again, guys. This chapter ended up longer than expected - coming in at roughly 20,700 words at final count. Oops :) So I've split it into two to hopefully make it an easier read for you all. So, hey, two chapters in one, woohoo!! Lol. 
> 
> And there are probably a bunch of inaccurate medical procedures going on between the two parts, so I apologise to any medical professionals that may be reading for any butchering going on :)

**CHAPTER 16: Part One**

 

BANG!!

Startled, Dean snatches his arm from around Sam, cursing as the impala swerves from the immediate release of air pressure in the rear driver side tire. 

Thankfully, the experience of hours upon hours spent in this car and several prior blowouts, has given Dean ample knowledge and he presses down slightly on the accelerator rather than easing up. It allows him to pull the Impala back under control fairly quickly without veering out of lane or causing a freaking pileup. 

Looking for an area to safely pull over, he curses again. The last thing they needed was a fucking blowout mere minutes away from the clinic he's taking Sammy. Spotting a hard shoulder just ahead, Dean pulls off and cuts the engine. 

And with the rumble of the engine no longer beneath him, Sam stirs against Dean, blinking open his eyes, sucking on his pacifier to moisten his dry mouth. “S’matter?”

"Blowout," Dean supplies, glancing in his side mirror to try and catch a glimpse of the damage without allowing any of the cold in just yet, but he gives up and looks back to Sam. “Stay here, Sammy.”

Ordinarily, he'd have Sam out of the car and waiting by the verge, but the kid is cold enough as it is. And anything wanting to hit the Impala will have to hit Dean first. His Baby will protect his boy. 

Sam doesn't put up a fight, easing himself away from Dean, though his fingers still grip Dean's coat.

“I won't be long, bud. It's just a tire change. Piece of cake,” Dean assures.

The expression on Sam’s face speaks volumes as to just how much he doesn’t want to let Dean go right now. But then he swallows and nods, fingers slowly releasing their hold and Dean reaches out, tucking the blanket around him better while being mindful of the kid’s broken arm. With that done, Dean gets out, quick to close his door so only little heat escapes. 

He first assesses the busted tire, sighing at the large tear. He retrieves the spare, the jack and his tools and is halfway through unfastening the nuts when the driver door creaks and Sam slowly steps out, sans pacifier. 

“Get your butt back in the car, Sam,” Dean calls out over the roar of passing traffic behind them.

"I gotta stretch," Sam replies, leaning against the car to help him stay upright as his head swims.

“Stretch across the seat then,” Dean responds. “It's easily accomplished, kid.”

Sam shivers in the cold, wondering if getting out of the car had been such a great idea after all. “I c-can help.”

The offer probably would have held more weight if his teeth weren't chattering and his body wasn't shivering and swaying with cold.

“Sammy, I got this, okay. Get back in the car.”

“You never let me help with her,” Sammy grumbles, blinking rapidly as the slight side to side swaying of his body becomes more pronounced.

“Sam?”

Sam blinks, trying to get the world to stop spinning too freaking quickly. “De …”

Dean is already up and running for his kid, even as Sam's eyes roll up into his head. The kid goes down like a sack of potatoes and Dean only just manages to stop him from bouncing that not so hard head off the road. A horn honks, which is so fucking not helpful right now when the dick driver just sails on by without even the slightest offer of assistance.

"Sam!? Sammy!” Dean gives his kid’s cheek a pat, trying to rouse him. When Sam doesn't stir, Dean presses two fingers to Sam's neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath. “Shit, okay.” Dean shifts, trying to get into a better position to hold Sam up so he can dig out his phone from his pocket.

He now desperately needs to get Sammy to the clinic, but it means leaving Sammy alone in the car in his unconscious state while he hurries to fix the tire, a procedure that will be hampered by Dean's constant need to check on his brother. There's no way he can fix the tire while keeping hold of Sammy. Cas is too far out to get there quickly. Dean doesn't remember the fucking number for the clinic and nor, apparently, does he have it in his contacts.

Which is just so fucking stupid.

He hurriedly scrolls through his list, hoping a name will jump out at him. _Idiot_ , he curses himself. _Rae. You have Rae’s number, you fucking idiot_.

About to press down to make the call once finding the contact, he drops the phone to lash out and grab the hand descending towards his unconscious baby brother, hard eyes rising to glare at whoever the fuck had tried to even dare touch his kid.

Wide honey-brown eyes stare back at him. “Hey, man,” the guy’s voice is calm despite Dean trying to crush his hand. “I'm not gonna hurt him. I'm a nurse. Names Stefan. Let me help.”

Dean doesn't trust easily, and he trusts even less when it comes to the safety of the kid in his arms, but something in those eyes speaks genuine to him. This is just a guy wanting to help and do what he is trained to do.

Dean releases his hold.

“Thank you,” Stefan murmurs, setting his hands to check over Sam. “What happened here? What's his name?”

“Sam,” Dean supplies and fires out a brief abbreviated explanation. He's aware of the blonde-haired woman hovering over the guy’s shoulder, phone at her ear and relaying medical details Stefan snaps out to her. “Who's she talking to?” Dean demands, drawing Sammy closer to him.

“One of the doctor’s at the medical clinic a few blocks away. Something tells me you were already heading that way.”

“That obvious, huh? You work there?”

“Sure do. What's your name?”

"Dean.”

“Alright, Dean, can you lift Sam? I want to get him to the clinic and the fastest way is if Lily …” Stefan gestures to the woman behind him, “… takes him in.”

“He ain't going anywhere without me,” Dean states, getting a good and protective grip under Sam's knees and back while pushing himself to his feet.

“Didn't think he would be,” Stefan offers a small smile. “You go on with him.” The guy snags the Impala’s keys from Dean's finger. “I'll fix your car up and follow to the clinic,” he states opening the back door of his SUV. “She'll be waiting for you in the parking lot good as new.”

Dean nods, not really caring about his car in that moment and slides into the back of the SUV with Sam. Stefan strips out of his jacket and lays it over Sam before closing the door. He speaks quietly to the woman – Lily - before she climbs into the driver seat of the SUV and they're heading out. 

Dean takes little notice of the scenery passing by, just continues to hold his kid, tapping his fingers against Sam's cheek to try and wake him. 

It isn't long before Lily pulls the SUV up outside the clinic, just to the side of a lone ambulance bay and opens the backdoor. There is a waiting gurney, with several doctors and nurses already waiting, Lily firing off what she knows upon being asked, as Dean sets Sam down.

He hurries along after his brother, refusing to leave Sam's side until he is stopped at a pair of swing doors, two nurses telling him he can go no further. He glowers at them, about to tell them exactly where they can shove their fucking rules when the doors open again and a petite woman steps out.

"Dean, my nurses haven't done anything to ignite your wrath, so please calm down.”

“Rae, you gotta … Is Sam okay?”

“That's what we’re going to establish. And I'll allow you to stay right out here if you let us work, Dean. You'll be with Sam again soon enough, I promise. Okay?” 

Though he doesn't like it, Dean nods, knowing a familiar face and old friend will be working on his brother. Rae nods and heads back into the room holding his kid, the two nurses following her, only after both shoot him firm looks, obviously hoping those looks alone will be enough to keep him out here.

Dean scrubs shaky hands over his hair. He digs his hand back into his jeans pocket and pulls out the phone he had thankfully remembered to pick up again. Pressing number two of his smart contacts, Dean jams the phone against his ear.

“Tell me you haven't used any powers in the past forty-five minutes,” Dean hisses the demand the second his call is answered, gaze fixed firmly on his brother through the small round window in one of the doors. “You sure? You've had complete control? … Cause Sam fucking collapsed, Cas, that's why. What? No, I didn't either… We're at the clinic now. I’ll …” He cuts himself off when Sammy jolts awake with a panicked cry of Dean's name, lashing out to clamp fingers around the shoulder of a nurse who had tried to stick a needle in his arm.

As he barges his way through the double doors, Dean's pretty sure his kid was aiming for the guy’s neck. 

#

Trying to calm Sam down while uncurling his fingers enough from Greg’s shoulder to release the nurse, Rae spots Dean barrelling through the doors. And having been a witness to Dean Winchester unapologetically body check medical professionals out of his way to reach a calling and scared little brother, she knows the potential risk of injury to her team has suddenly increased tenfold.

Which is why she quickly barks, "back away!" Her well-trained team immediately jumping backwards away from the bed, clearing a path for Dean to get to his frightened brother without further injury to others. 

“Sam. Sammy. Hey, you're safe. It's me. I'm here. I'm right here, Sammy,” Dean croons, fingers running through Sam's hair as he leans over the kid enough to gain his attention.

Sam's harried breathing slows, his wandering eyes finally slowing to settle on Dean. He rushes up and grips hold of his brother, and Dean stops himself from tumbling backwards at the force. Unfortunately Sam's rushed movement has a detrimental effect and the kid goes limp in Dean's arms.

Panic slices inwardly through Dean. Outwardly, he’s calm, closing his eyes and just waiting for that feeling of Sammy’s lungs working beneath the hand he has on his little boy’s back. Relief overshadowing the panic when he feels it within only a fraction of a second, along with the puffs of breath against his neck.

Rae steps forward, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. He doesn't turn to her or stop comforting his brother and honestly, she hadn't expected him to. “He's out again, Dean,” she tells him quietly, unnecessarily as she finds out.

“Yeah, I know.” 

“You should lay him back down.”

Dean snorts. “No. Whatever you intended to do with that needle, you can do while he's like this.”

“Alright, Dean,” Rae acknowledges that Dean means business. There will be no moving him.

And seeing Greg unharmed but looking unsure as to how to proceed with Sam still in Dean's arms, Rae grabs the tourniquet from Greg and ties it off around Sam's upper right arm. She then gestures Greg forward to take the blood work they need.

This time, Greg is able to get the needle in and withdraw the blood without a hitch. Which isn't surprising. Sam associates Dean with safety and protection when he's hurt. Even in his once again unconscious state he clearly knows his brother has him. 

Now they just need to find out what is going on. 

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean drops down into a chair, resting his elbows on his knees and scrubs a hand over his face. He allows the calm visage of his outward appearance to fall now that he is alone in this new room, save for his still unconscious baby brother residing in the bed beside him. The boy buried under several blankets to warm him up, fluids flowing down the thin tubing into an intravenous cannula in the crook of Sam’s right arm, and still looking too pale for Dean’s liking.

He had been assured that Sam should be fine and will wake again soon, but it doesn’t help. Nothing will until he sees his little brother’s hazel eyes staring back at him. Only then will this ball of fear in Dean’s chest slowly begin to deflate and dissipate.

And he should be used to this by now, shouldn’t he? Sammy deciding he hasn’t given his big brother enough of a scare for one day he has to go and collapse on him, twice.

The little attention seeker.

Dean sweeps his thumb over the back of Sammy’s right hand, the hand Dean is holding through the bed’s raised safety rail. “I’m right here, Sammy. You gonna open your eyes for big brother?”

Sammy doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t move a muscle. And Dean hates it. It is just too reminiscent of the many other times Sam has been too still like this. Sammy shouldn’t be still. Even when he’s researching and doesn’t move his butt off a chair for hours, there is always a twitch of fingers, legs shaking up and down, pens or pencils twirled around fingers.

Sammy is never just still. 

Until unconsciousness takes him.

And apparently all because of dehydration and inner ear abrasions.

The preliminary cause of Sammy’s latest collapses and Dean’s most recent near heart attack. He had been fucking terrified this was it, the burnout they had been fearing. Cas had assured Dean he had used no powers. Dean knows he himself has used none. But they still don’t know if the two of them just having these powers inside of them is having a detrimental effect on Sam’s system.

So how can they know it isn’t related? Dehydration and ear abrasions masking what it truly could be and Dean fucking prays and hopes it isn’t.

He snaps his head around to the door as it is pushed open, the guy who had helped them out on the side of the road stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He’s tall, probably just shy of Dean’s height, he now realises on getting a proper look at the guy. Unblemished dark skin making it difficult to set an age to him, but Dean would guess at late twenties to early thirties. His hair is dark brown and he clearly works out from the look of his muscular arms.

“Hey, Dean, how’s he doing?” Stefan questions, voice deep with a touch of smoke-gravel.

“They said he’ll wake soon, so …” Dean shrugs one shoulder, unsure, and just hoping he hasn’t been told a pack of lies.

“It’s a little unusual for Sam not to have woken after a few seconds with a collapse like this,” Stefan explains, Dean already aware of it but letting the guy go on anyway. “But, honestly, you can never group people under one norm of what _should_ happen. It doesn’t make for good medical practise in my opinion.”

“Yeah, kid’s never been normal,” Dean replies, an affectionate teasing lilt to his words.

Stefan smiles lightly. “He’ll wake when he’s good and ready. Oh, here,” he digs into his pocket, withdrawing the keys to the Impala and holding them out to Dean. “She’s in Zone A of the parking lot and she is one hell of a beauty. Drives like a dream.”

“She sure does,” Dean agrees pocketing his keys. “Thanks for doing that, man. And for your help out there.” 

“You’re more than welcome, Dean. Now for the hard part.” Dean raises an eyebrow at the other man. “I need to remove the IV cannula in Sam’s arm and replace it with a double so he only has the one. Is he gonna try and strangle me if he wakes up during it?”

“He might,” Dean offers apologetically. “But I’ll be right here to prevent it. What else are you giving him?”

“Acetaminophen.”

“Well that’s gonna make him even more tired.”

Stefan nods. “More than likely. But it'll hopefully help to lower his slightly raised temperature. Mind if I get you to move round to Sam’s left side? I need access to his right hand.” 

Dean stands and does as asked, moving around the bed until he stands near Sam’s head so he can brush back the damp hair from the kid’s face. He leaves his hand there, just resting it lightly on Sammy’s forehead, wanting Sam to know he’s there while he has his cannula inserted. Stupid, considering, but Dean needs to offer the comfort he would if Sammy was awake.

“He doesn’t like needles,” Dean says, speaking more to himself than Stefan.

“It’s surprising just how common that phobia actually is,” Stefan responds anyway, tightening a tourniquet around Sam’s lower right arm and taking in the raised blue-green veins on the back of Sam’s hand.

Seeing the tourniquet reminds Dean of the charms in his pocket. The ones Bobby had given to them years ago before they got the tattoos, and Dean had only a few hours ago removed from Sam’s jacket pocket on the way to Portland from the library. Unfortunately tying them around Sam’s wrists is now out, but the kid has two skinny ankles Dean can work with.

And as soon as Stefan has inserted and placed the cannula successfully, Dean brushes his hand over Sam’s hair once more before moving down to the end of the bed. He pulls up the blankets covering Sam’s naked body, just enough to reveal his bare ankles, his wet clothing having been stripped off of him on his admittance. His jeans and boots in a bag by the chair Dean was occupying, while the kid’s outer-shirt and tee now reside in the trash after being cut from Sam. Ruined clothing pretty par for the course in their line of work.

“You got any spare clothing here at all?” Dean’s hoping for some pants he can put on Sammy's bottom half at least. The arm in the sling prevents an upper covering, unless they have the gowns with the popper fastenings around the arms.

“I’ll get him some scrubs as soon as I’m done here,” Stefan replies, pushing a saline flush through the line.

“Thanks,” Dean responds, grateful, as he untangles one of the thin leather bands from the other, before tying it off around Sam’s right ankle. “Lucky charms,” he announces quietly upon feeling Stefan’s gaze as he ties off the second protection charm, this time around Sam’s left ankle. “You have a bandage or something you can put around that?” Dean questions with a nod of his head to the cannula in the back of Sammy’s hand.

“I’m about to dress it,” Stefan responds, laying down a dressing over the cannula already being held in place at the wings by two narrow strips of tape. Stefan peels away the cream edges, leaving behind the transparent dressing. “All done.”

“Yeah, I mean more than that. Cause trust me when I say Sam will wake up and try rip that thing out.”

Stefan frowns as he disconnects the tubing feeding fluids into Sam from the cannula he’s about to remove and connects it to one of the two capped ends of the new cannula. “We don’t like to put an actual bandage around it unless it’s being splinted. But if Sam does try to take it out when he wakes up, just let me know and we’ll bandage it then. That sound fair?” 

 _No_ , Dean silently comments, having had enough experience of how Sam is when it comes to IV’s sticking in him. The kid never quite getting that if he takes it out, the nurses only have to put one back in again. Outwardly, he nods. “Fair enough.” 

Dropping the removed cannula in the sharps tub, Stefan strips out of his gloves and picks up an ear thermometer and is about to snap a cover on it when he looks to Dean. “If I do this, is the same thing I hear happened in the emergency room going to happen this time?”

“Yep,” Dean states, knowing if they continue with trying to check Sam’s temperature conventionally they will be losing a good few thermometers. Just like the one they already lost earlier.

“Right.” Stefan sets the ear thermometer back into the tray and picks up another, stripping the packaging from it before pulling on a fresh set of royal blue gloves. “Will you help me roll Sam onto his right side?”

Despite being surprised by the request, Dean doesn't outwardly show it. He is more than aware most clinics and hospitals frown upon patient’s families assisting in areas such as this, but Dean has his suspicions Sam’s doctor had words with her staff.

Together, he and Stefan situate Sam comfortably onto his right side, a pillow beneath his broken arm to keep it in place. Stefan is quick and efficient, and within a minute he has a new temperature reading and Sammy is once again lying on his back and covered over.

“That won’t be so easy when he’s awake,” Dean comments.

“I don’t doubt it. Do you know why it happens?”

“His body's electrical current runs faster than others. Least that's what the docs figured when Sam was younger.”

“Does he have any other problems around technology?” Stefan questions with a glance to the intravenous pump now working to feed the acetaminophen and fluids steadily into Sam. 

“Nah. Though, now that I think about it, his watches and phones tend not to last too long.” But then again, the kid gets thrown into walls and bookcases and numerous other shit too much as well.

“Items generally on his person. Not surprising. Dr Aster should be in shortly to update you.”    

“Thanks, man.”

Stefan takes his tray with the sharps tub and left-over rubbish and leaves, returning a few minutes later with the promised scrubs. Dean asks what underwear might be available, only to decline the options given. Sammy will just have to go commando this once.

“You gonna be needing this room at some point?”

“Not unless we’re desperate. We have five others that will soon be available for the next patients. Unless you’d prefer Sam was transferred …”

“No,” Dean quickly refuses. “This is fine. Thanks.”

Stefan nods and leaves once again, but not before reminding Dean to press the call button if needed.

Dean refrains from mentioning that this isn’t their first rodeo.      

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sensing Sammy stirring before he hears the rustle of blankets, Dean quickly sets his new notebook, pen and borrowed iPad (all of which Stefan had got and lent him) on a shelf beside him as he rises. Standing on the right side of Sammy's bed, his name falling from slightly parched lips, Dean sets his hand on his kid’s chest and lightly rubs his sternum without jarring the kid’s broken arm.

“Hey, Sammy,” he calls as he leans down, enough to be both quiet and close, but not too close that it'll make Sammy jump when he opens his eyes. “I'm right here. Open your eyes for me, kiddo.”

“De’n,” is barely whispered again, Sammy fidgeting as he drags his way up from unconsciousness.

"Right here, Sammy. C'mon, open those peepers for me.” Sam manages to open his eyes to half-mast before they close again. “That's it, kiddo. Nearly there. One more time.”

Sam’s eyes open with a struggle, and while not fully open yet, Dean can still see hazel. “De’n,” this time his name is expressed with recognition rather than searching.

Dean smiles. “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam blinks several times to clear the fog, his eyes remaining open a little more each time. “W’t ‘appen'd? Wh’re we?”

“We'll get to that once you wake up a little more, kiddo. Just know you're safe, Sammy.”

“W’th you. ‘M safe.”

Still half asleep and probably unaware of what he's even saying, the kid still manages to wrench Dean’s heart. He's done his best his whole life to keep his little brother safe but it hasn't always been the case. And more recently, Dean was the thing his brother had to fear. To hear that Sammy still feels safety in him, it helps to ease some of that guilt and self-recrimination.

If only a little.

“I'm not going anywhere, kiddo.”

A smile flitters over Sammy’s lips before his eyes fully open. They are glazed from the acetaminophen the boy is being given, along with the fluids. Something Sam just now notices is flowing down the tubes into the intravenous cannula in the back of his hand. And Dean has to grab his wrist, pulling the hand away from the kid’s mouth when Sam immediately goes for the transparent dressing with his teeth to get at the cannula beneath.

“Sammy, stop. There’s no needle in there. Just tubing.”

“Still don't wannit.”

“Well tough.” Sammy shrinks back slightly, staring up at Dean with wide hurt eyes and Dean lets out a sigh. That came out harsher than he had intended. “You’re dehydrated, Sammy.”

“Am not. Got a broke arm.”

“Well on top of your broken arm, you have abrasions in your ears, and you _are_ dehydrated. You need the fluids they’re giving you.”

“Sure. I’ll have fluids. In a cuppy,” Sam declares, trying to pull his hand back towards his mouth.

Once more, Dean pulls it away. “Stop,” he says sternly. Sam glares at him mutinously, still trying to pull his arm free from Dean’s hold. “ _Sam_.”

“I see we should've done as you said, Dean,” Stefan says, witnessing Sam's attempt to get at his cannula as he enters the room, pulling a wrapped bandage from a pocket in his uniform. “Hey, Sam,” he gives the kid a white-toothed smile. “It’s good to see you awake. I’m Stefan. Your nurse.”

“Hi,” Sammy mumbles, shyness taking him enough to still his attempt to get at his cannula. His eyes watch Stefan’s every move.

Dean shifts over, closer to the head of the bed to allow Stefan access to Sam’s hand, without releasing his kid’s wrist just yet.

Stefan doesn’t do anything, just leans his arms on the guard. “Sam, I’m just going to wrap a bandage around your cannula, okay. Think you can be a good boy and leave it alone so I don’t have to replace it? Because I don’t want to have to do that. And your brother doesn’t want you to have to have another cannula put in either. Think you can do that, bud?”

Sam turns wide eyes up to Dean, face slightly flushed. “‘Nother cannula?”

Dean leans down, brushing hair out of Sam’s eyes. “If you pull this one out, Sammy, then yeah.”

“I’ll leave it alone,” Sam quick-fire’s out, before turning shy eyes to Stefan.

Stefan gives another pleased toothed smile and praises, “Attaboy.” Tearing the packaging from the bandage, he makes quick work of winding it around Sam’s hand and wrist before clipping it off (conveniently in an area Sam’s teeth won’t be able to reach). “There we go. All done.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean gives his gratitude.

“You’re welcome. Press the call button if you need anything else before I return to take your vitals, Sam.”

“‘Kay,” Sam murmurs.

Dean chuckles lightly when Sam shifts his head across the pillow so he can rub his right eye against Dean’s knuckles. “You wanna go back to sleep, Sammy?” he questions when the kid is done. “It might be a while before your X-ray.”

Sam shakes his head, his eyes tracking around the room, finding the toys and soft animals resting on shelves, the rocking chair beside the bed. The sea-life murals on the walls. And the safety rails either side of his bed that are slightly taller and thicker than those belonging to an adult hospital bed.

“Is this… is this a pediatric room?”

“Looks to be,” Dean states, nonchalantly.

“Why am I in a peds room, Dean?”

“It was the only one available after you collapsed,” Dean supplies, unimpressed with Sam’s accusatory tone.

Because while Dean may have decided to keep Sammy in this room when Stefan asked if he wanted a transfer, he wasn’t the one who originally brought Sam in here. That was all Rae’s doing. 

Sam flushes slightly. “Oh.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Sam raises his hand to the safety rail closest to Dean and gives it a small shake. “They’re staying up, Sammy.”

“I don’t need them.”

“Says the kid whose fallen outta bed over a dozen times lately. They stay. Gonna be getting you some anyway, so you should get used to ‘em, Sammy.”

“What? No, Dean, we don’t need to pay out that kinda expense when it’s not necessary.”

“Pretty sure we agreed I deal with our finances, Sammy, and a couple safety rails for your bed aren’t gonna break the bank. And sorry to burst your bubble, buddy, but they _are_ necessary.”

“Next you’ll be saying I need training wheels for the bike I don’t even ride.”

“Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Shut up,” Sam huffs, but there’s a small smile at the corners of his lips.

Dean picks up the borrowed iPad, inputs a few things and then says, “I was thinking of these, actually,” before turning the screen around to face his little brother.

“You get them in that colour I’ll paint your car to match.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

“Fine. No pink safety rails for the princess.”

“Shut up, Jerk,” Sam grumbles, but he’s chuckling while he says it.

“Bitch,” Dean smirks. It disappears as Sam’s face twists and he shifts on the bed. “Sammy? You in pain?”

Sam shakes his head. “I need to go potty. Without any suggestion of a bedpan or bottle.”

Dean offers a grin. “Then you'll be happy to know this room has a private bathroom.”

“It does?”

“Yep. Just through that door,” Dean points to the door standing half-closed and at an angle in the central wall of three that jut out into the room to create said bathroom. “Just give me a sec.”

Dean reaches over to the wall behind Sam's bed and first pulls the plug from the outlet halfway down the wall. He then drapes the lead over the infusion pump, which beeps and will continue to beep all the while it's on battery power. He next lowers the safety rail closest to him and picks up his kid.

“I can walk,” Sammy grumbles.

“I'm not risking you collapsing again, kiddo. So just deal with it.”

With Sammy settled on his hip, the infusion tubing resting over Dean’s shoulder so it doesn't get caught up, Dean grasps the pole with the infusion pump and wheels it across the floor and into the bathroom. He first settles Sammy on the toilet seat, before pulling down the scrubs.

He steps back and Sam opens his mouth. “Oh no. Don't even think about asking me to leave this room. Cause it ain't happening.”

“Wasn't going to,” Sam mumbles as his bladder starts to empty, knowing how freaked out Dean must have been and clearly still is from his earlier collapse. “Have I gotta stay here long, De?”

“Think that’ll depend on the result of your X-ray when they get around to doing it.”

“I hate hospitals.”

“You and me both, baby.”

“When’s Cas getting here?”

“Should be soon. He’s gonna make a pit stop somewhere to get you some clothes.”

“These are okay,” Sam says, picking at the waistband of the scrubs.

“Warmer clothes. Plus you don’t have anything clean until I get to a laundromat. Some fresh pj’s won’t hurt.”

“Pj’s?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Dean hums. “They'll be easier for him to find than sweats, tee-shirt, sweater, along with underwear and socks.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Sam giggles, “his shopping trip didn’t go so great last time.” 

“He didn’t do all bad, Sammy,” Dean defends the former-angel with a roll of his eyes. “He did pick it all out himself. Finished?” He questions when he hears no more pee hitting the pan (and that was a long-assed pee) and Sam gives a shake, then nods.

Fingers wiped over with the supplied hand sanitiser and scrubs back in place, Dean carries his brother back into the main room and deposits him on the bed, covering him over with the blankets. Situating the safety rail back into place, he plugs the intravenous pump back into the outlet and settles it once again where it stood.

“All right, Sammy, you stay right there on that bed. I’ve gotta take a leak too.”

Thankfully, because they are in a hospital room that anyone can freely walk into, Dean actually closes the bathroom door fully. It allows Sam a short period of time to figure out whether he can lower the safety rails one handed, just like Dean had done only minutes ago.

Hearing the toilet flush, Sam releases an aggravated sigh, glaring at the safety rail to his right that still remains up, his attempts to lower it futile. Though he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He has never been able to lower the things without assistance. And he can’t even drop the stupid side rail down on a baby crib without having to call for his brother, something that had caused no end of amusement to Dean on a case a few years ago.

Aware he’s not getting the thing down before Dean returns, Sam shimmies his butt down to the end of the bed. He uses the limited free space between the safety rail and footboard to escape, only to come face to face with Dean’s disapproving scowl.

“Back on that bed.” 

“No. I don’t need it. I just need my arm fixed.”

“Sam, you passed out …”

The sound of the door opening stops them and Dean turns around to face the woman entering. Only a moment later he feels his jacket tighten as fingers curl around the fabric at his back. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals what he already knows.

Sammy’s gone shy.

His kid having parked his butt back on the bed only so he can hide his tall frame behind Dean, who turns slightly so he can see both Sammy and the doctor.

“Well you’re not quite little Sam Winchester anymore,” she says, her tone light and friendly, shoulder length tawny hair framing her heart-shaped face; a softness in her light brown eyes as she smiles. “Last time I saw you, you barely reached past my hip and I was pretty small then too.”

Lost, Sam looks to his brother for help, even as his doctor chuckles softly.

“Sammy, you remember little Rae-Rae?” Dean nudges, smiling teasingly at Sam’s doctor.

“You can quit it with that Rae-Rae shit, _Dean-o_ ,” she snorts. “It’s Rae. And you know it.”

Sam is still looking to Dean for clarification. “Sammy, re-meet Raeyan Jeffries, now Aster. Tom and Kara’s youngest daughter.”

Sam’s eyes widen as his gaze travels back to Raeyan over Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, wow. Of course, yeah. Sorry, Rae, I didn’t recognise you.”

“Hey, that’s no worries, sweetie,” she waves off, still smiling. “It has been a good few years since we all last saw each other.” She looks to Dean and questions, “When was it? Ninety-nine?”

“Sounds about right, yeah,” Dean agrees. “Seen the folks a few times, though.”

She nods. “I don’t think my parents will ever fully be able to step away from the life.”

“Have you? Being married to a hunter?”

“Touché,” she responds.

“You’re married to a hunter?” Sam pipes up quietly.

“Sure am. Mike Aster.”

“Oh. Sorry about his broken leg.”

Rae smiles, “So is he, honey. The way he’s behaving you’d think six weeks off his feet is the end of the world.” 

“I bet,” Dean snorts. “Tell him his lazy ass can do some research.”

Rae chuckles. “I might just do that, Dean. Now …” she starts, turning her attention back to Sam, who shuffles nervously on the bed, fingers still clutching at the back of Dean’s jacket. “I see you’ve been in the wars …”

“No wars recently,” Sam responds, before ducking his head down and leaning his forehead against Dean’s back.

Dean smiles slightly in amusement. Reaching behind him, he carefully grasps Sam’s right wrist, being mindful of the cannula, and keeping contact so he can shift himself to the side so he no longer stands in front of his brother. Sammy looks at him with wide eyes and tries to shift across the bed to hide back behind him, but the footboard prevents it.

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Dean decides on a different option. “Shift over that way,” Dean tells him, gesturing Sam up the bed. 

The kid goes, shuffling his butt over slightly so he’s sitting crossed leg behind the safety rail. Dean takes Sam’s vacated spot. He presses a hand to the back of Sammy’s neck, giving a gentle squeeze as Sammy tries to lean behind him to hide once again. 

“Rae needs to see you, bud.”

“She _can_ see me,” Sam whispers.

“All of you.”

“Nuh-uh, she’s a girl!”

Rae hides her chuckle behind her hand, but Dean can see the mirth in her eyes. She quickly schools it though, reverting back to the consummate professional when Dean is able to retrieve a pouting Sam from behind his back.

“Well, there you are,” she teases lightly. Sam ducks his head down, a small grin on his lips. “Okay, Sam, so, the abrasions in your ears have had a small effect on your balance,” she informs him. “And your brother told me you’ve been sick as recently as yesterday. That is in large part why you are dehydrated. Add in the small bump on your head, and it all resulted in your collapse today.”

“I don’t have a concussion though.”

“No concussion. No. Did you have anything to eat or drink today, Sam?”

Sam stills. That question is a real double-edged sword that could easily see him in further trouble with his brother if he tells the truth. But then again, maybe he only has to tell a half truth. He did of course consume a coffee when he is forbidden from the beverage, but he also had water. The cookie, however, would not be considered suitable or sufficient breakfast food in Dean’s eyes, so …

Dean gently taps a finger under Sam’s chin and Sam slowly raises his head up. “Answer the question, please.”

Sam nods, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I had some bottled water this morning. And I, um, ate a cookie.”

“ _Real_ breakfast of champions there, Sammy,” Dean whistles.

“It was a big cookie!” Sam defends, before deflating, knowing he is going to have to tell the truth of what followed. “It’s just…”

“Just what, Sam?” Rae questions gently. 

“I kinda threw up everything after eating it.”

“And you’ve been throwing up with your illness for a near week prior?”

“Four days,” Dean corrects, feeling a stab of guilt that perhaps this is his fault. He obviously hadn’t managed to get enough fluids into his little boy. “Hey,” he shoots a glare at said little boy as he feels a sharp pinch on his leg.

“Not your fault,” Sam declares, firmly, but still quietly, the line between his eyes deeply creased into his stubborn frown.

“Okay,” Dean says, even if he doesn’t believe it. Sam’s frown deepens, his eyes narrow and Dean smiles. “Okay, Sammy,” he repeats softly.

“We’re going to give you another bag of fluids once this one is done, Sam,” Rae cuts in. “Which by the looks of it should be very soon. I'll send Stefan in to change it and take your vitals. And hopefully we can get you to X-ray for that arm within the next thirty minutes to an hour. I’ll also write you up a prescription for some ear drops.”

“Thanks, Rae,” Dean says while Sam nods.

“Try and get some rest while you wait. Both of you.”

“We’ll try,” Dean responds, knowing that even if he doesn’t, Sam will.

Rae leaves and Dean turns to Sammy, giving him the stink eye and the kid shimmies his way back up the bed until his butt is resting in the crease of the raised head.

“Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Dean quips. Sam punches him in the arm, features suddenly disapproving. “Hey, quit it with the punching and the pinching and the glaring, little boy.”

But Sam doesn’t quit it with the glaring. “I might not have seen Rae in years, Dean, but you’ve talked to her and mentioned where she works before. You brought me to Grey Willow, didn’t you?” 

“So what if I did?”

“Dean, we can’t afford this place.”

“Sam, I already told you …”

“You deal with the finances,” Sam interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “I hear you, okay. But, seriously, Dean, we can’t afford this. Even with the deduction they give.”

Dean sighs. “Sammy, we’re not here because we may or may not be able to afford it. We’re here for the protection it offers.”

Because lying just outside of Portland, the Grey Willow Medical Clinic is one of the few hunter-friendly clinics in the country. The place is owned by Harrison Jeffries, younger brother of Tom Jeffries (owner of the tattoo parlour they’ll later be heading towards in Seattle) and an old friend of Bobby’s from Sioux Falls.

The place has had an upgrade since Dean was last here, and while it may still retain the title of medical clinic, it now more resembles a small state of the art hospital. Able to open its doors day and night to whoever needs it. Especially when those seeking it are hunters. It makes explaining any anomalies in injuries much easier. Like your ears are all cut up because some weird-assed vortex screeched too loudly when it was being consumed by a freaking wolf. 

There are barely noticeable sigils adorning corners of doors, baseboards, windowsills, ledges and frames, while the floors of each room and hallway are coated with Devil Traps only visible under black light. Unfortunately, figuring out which of the personnel are aware of the supernatural can be a little difficult. 

It isn’t like it’s tattooed on people’s foreheads.

Sam sighs, opening his mouth to say something in return when the intravenous pump feeding him fluids and painkiller starts beeping. At the same time the door opens to admit Stefan with a fresh bag of fluids. Sam shifts across the bed to be closer to Dean, who sets a hand on his shoulder, giving a squeeze. It allows for some of the anxiety and shyness Sam is feeling to ease ever so slightly.

"Well would you look at that awesome timing,” Stefan crows proudly, but quietly as not to disturb other patients before he closes the door.

Dean snorts and Sammy smiles slightly. 

“Sammy, I'm just gonna move round to your other side so Stefan can get to the pump,” Dean communicates, unwilling to allow the kid to think he might be leaving. 

Sam nods tightly, his eyes tracking Dean's every move until Dean stands on his left. Reassured Dean isn't going anywhere, Sam turns his gaze back to Stefan, silently watching as a blood pressure cuff is wound around his upper right arm and a pulse-ox attached to his finger. 

While Stefan jots down the readings, Dean closes his eyes briefly, knowing a fight is coming.

“Sam, I just need to roll you onto your right side now to take your temperature,” Stefan says, pulling on gloves.

“Oh hell no,” Sammy refuses, shifting his butt back fully against the mattress.

“Sammy …”

“No, Dean. I know my patient rights. I got every right to refuse _this_.” He turns stubborn eyes to Stefan, who is hovering with the thermometer. “And I'll shove _that_ up _your_ ass before you get anywhere near mine.”

"Give us a minute,” Dean tells Stefan, who looks at Sam's mutinous gaze one last time before nodding, setting the thermometer back in the small tray and removing his gloves on the way out of the door.

“Good riddance.”

Dean catches his brother’s chin. “I know you're upset, Sam, but that was rude and you'll apologise when he comes back in here, do you understand me?”

“Like you haven't spoken worse crap than that to people.”

“That’s me. You on the other hand have manners I expect you to adhere to. Because you were damned well raised better.”

He watches the tears well in Sam’s eyes, the kid more vulnerable because of his injury, his setting, and hell, everything that has happened today. “I'm sorry,” the kid whispers, his heart taking over his anger.

“I know.” Dean leans forward, resting his forehead against his kid’s for a moment before pulling back enough to look in Sam’s eyes. “You remember what we talked about the other day?” 

“Yeah. That neither of us can change this,” Sammy murmurs. “It's part of me, no matter how much I don't like it, I gotta live and deal with it.”

“Yeah, kiddo. Just like I have to suffer the burden of being unnaturally handsome,” Dean teases.

Sammy sniffles back his tears. “I'm sorry to say I think you've been staring in a cursed mirror all your life if you think you're handsome, Dean. I'm so cuter than you.” 

“Exactly. You’re all cute and young and dimples and puppy eyes. Your big brother, however, is all rugged manliness.” 

Sam snorts. “If you say so.” 

They’re silent for a time, Sam resting his head against Dean's shoulder, Dean rubbing circles into Sam’s back, helping his tense boy relax. 

“Okay,” the whisper is faint and Dean eases his kid back for confirmation. “I'll have my temp taken… if _you_ do it.” Sam doesn't want his temperature taken full stop, but Dean's right.

He can't get away from it for the rest of his life and he can't put up a fight every time. But that doesn't mean he wants some stranger doing it, even if that stranger is a nurse and does these things all the time.

“Alright. Let's get you on your side.”

Lying on his side a minute later, the waistband of the scrubs sitting just below his bottom, Sam tries not to squirm at the feel of the foreign object sticking in his butthole, especially when Stefan returns to the room. His brother is rubbing his back, murmuring nonsense to keep him calm. And Stefan takes it all in as if he walks in every day to a patient’s family member doing his job for him.

“That's it? Not a minute?” Sam questions surprised when he hears the beep after only about thirty seconds, not that he's complaining if it's over as quick as that.

“Yep, all done,” Dean pulls the thermometer out and takes in the reading, before showing it to Stefan.

“We get the good thermometers,” Stefan says with a wink, jotting down the reading. “You did great, Sam,” he praises. “Much better than other patients who've found themselves in the same situation.” 

“I can't imagine that's true with the way I was rude to you.” Sam feels his face heat. “I'm sorry,” he apologises quietly, feeling the scrubs being pulled up to thankfully cover his bottom again. 

“I've dealt with far ruder patients, Sam, so don't you worry about that. Now, what say we get these fluids hooked up so you can get some rest?”

“Okay,” Sam agrees, watching as Stefan switches out the old bag for the new. “What's that in the bottle?” 

“That is your painkiller,” Stefan supplies. “It goes through pretty slow, but it is fast acting. Get some rest, Sam. I'll be back later to unhook you.”

With Stefan no longer in the way of the rocker, Dean returns around that side to retake his seat.

Sam squirms on the bed and Dean can tell the kid is irritated by his lack of underwear, but there isn't a lot Dean can do about it right now. Their gear is still back at the motel in Redfern Grove. Which reminds Dean he needs to call and book the room for another night, thankful the place has an open check-out policy. 

“Sammy, if you really don't like it, the clinic has something you can wear.” An eyebrow arcs at him in question. “They got some plastic briefs …” Sam stares at him in horror "… or a pull-up or diaper," Dean continues calmly relaying the underwear options Stefan had offered as if they have these types of conversations every day. 

“No,” Sam rejects in a grumble.

Dean knows that if it became necessary to put Sammy back in pull-ups or diapers, Sam would kick up one hell of a stink. Just like anyone would that has lived as a mostly self-sufficient adult for over a decade. Yet Dean also doesn't fail to notice how much less horrified the kid seemed to be at the suggestion of a pull-up or diaper than he was of the plastic briefs.

And Dean may tease good-naturedly, but he knows that particular subject is sensitive as Sammy was much older than other children when his body fully allowed him to say goodbye to diapers as a child. And when - if - that need arises once again, it will have to be handled with kid gloves. It would be a big adjustment for the both of them. Sam having to grow comfortable wearing them again and what that fully entails. And Dean will have to get used to recognising when the kid needs a change again.

But he's getting ahead of himself.

They haven't reached that stage yet. And may never do so. Yet Dean needs to be prepared for the possibility. After all, he needs to be able to get Sammy through it. And neither one of them will be able to do so if Dean freaks out about it too. 

“What?" Dean questions, seeing Sam staring at him. "You want me to go strip outta mine so you can wear 'em?"

“Eww, Dean. Gross.” Dean chuckles as Sam's face now twists into disgust. “I'd rather go butt naked than accept any of those options.” 

“No you wouldn't.” 

“Well you’re not putting me in no diaper either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean replies. “Not today anyway,” he adds, to try and lessen the impact of what he knows could very well become reality, what with Sammy's younger behaviour of late. And the almost near wetting. Along with that one accident when the kid was sick. 

“Shut up,” Sam grumbles, even as he reaches out to brush his fingers over the chest pocket of Dean's shirt. Hazel eyes rise to Dean’s through wisps of damp hair. “Gone?” Sammy questions, bottom lip beginning to tremble. 

Dean pats the pocket, and then the rest of his pockets and is saddened by the realisation that his baby boy has asked for something he wants and Dean doesn't have it on him. “I'm sorry, baby, it must still be in the car.” 

“Oh,” Sammy's face falls and Dean feels like crap for forgetting it. “That- that's okay, De,” he mumbles, trying his best to swallow back tears. 

Unable to just simply sit there and watch his kid struggle, Dean rises, hooks a hand under the upper bar of the closest safety rail and lifts it slightly before pushing it down. Reaching out for Sammy, who leans towards him easily, Dean carefully eases him off the bed, bringing him onto his lap, now grateful this is a peds room with a rocker. Tucking the blankets around the kid, Sam looks at him through teary eyes. 

“I no needs a dam-ding anyways,” he whispers.  

Dean smiles softly, sadly, pressing a kiss to his brave little man’s temple. And it takes a moment for Sammy’s words to register, but when they do, Dean is hit with the recollection of Sammy’s preferred name for his pacifier. 

 _Dam-ding._  

Dean smiles lightly, resting his chin on Sammy’s head. And yeah, he takes the blame for that appellation. The kid having heard a young Dean mutter ‘where is the damn thing’ when trying to find a lost pacifier on one too many occasions. And of course, Dean had been more likely to start farting rainbows than trying to get a stubborn Sammy to stop calling it that.

So it stuck.

Although it was fortunate for Dean’s hide that Sammy couldn’t pronounce his ‘th’ properly that first time Bobby had heard the kid calling his pacifier that. It allowed Dean the opportunity to just shrug his shoulders at the man as if he didn’t have a clue what Sammy was saying and just blame it on baby talk.

Of course, it hadn’t taken the old man long to figure it out, and the swat Dean’s rear-end had received was more out of fond exasperation than reprimand as it hadn’t stung anywhere near usual. 

He does have to wonder, though, if it ever reminded Sammy of his pacifier anytime he heard someone say ‘damn thing’ in earshot of him throughout these past years. Bobby was prone to doing that more than anyone, Dean remembers fondly as he reaches out to the bookshelf beside them and grasps hold of a soft toy elephant that sits atop it. 

Drawing the toy towards him, Dean holds it out to Sammy, hoping to take the kid’s mind away from thoughts of his pacifier. Normally, Sammy would have already stuck his thumb in his mouth, but the cannula in the back of his hand and the bandage wrapped around it is preventing that.

“Hey, Sammy, why don't you hang onto this for a bit, baby? It looks like it could do with one of your special warm hugs.” And, wow, it’s been a long time since he’s referred to a hug of Sam’s in that way.

Sam stares from him to the toy and back and Dean can see the indecision warring in his eyes. It doesn't take long before Sammy makes up his mind, though, and the kid’s hand snakes out from within the blanket folds and Dean hands the toy over. Sammy clutches the elephant and draws it against his chest, thumb slowly brushing over the soft fur.

Dean allows a fond smile forwards as he tucks the blanket back around his kid once more. He pushes against the floor to start the rocker moving only gently as not to jar Sammy's arm. Within a minute, though Sam is still awake, he is droopy-eyed and boneless against Dean; relaxed and out of pain thanks to the liquid IV acetaminophen running through his system. And for the time being the soft toy has eased Sammy’s need for his pacifier.  

#

Dean's eyes open before the door handle even presses downwards, the door slowly opening and Rae peeks her head in. Seeing them, she smiles and steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her. 

“Is he asleep?” She whispers. 

Dean nods. “You know,” he starts just as quietly, “this would freak most people out.” He knows he doesn't need to explain what he's talking about to Rae. “Or at least startle them.”

“You’ve clearly forgotten how many times I've seen Sam sitting on your lap in the past.” Rae pulls herself up onto Sam's bed, crossing her legs at the knee. “I may not have seen you boys much over the years, Dean, but I haven't forgotten how close you two are. And since when do you give a flying fuck what other people think?” 

“ _I_ don't.” Dean glances at Sam. 

“Ah,” Rae nods, understanding. “He always was more sensitive,” she says softly, fingers gently brushing over Sam's hair. “Do you want me to get him a pacifier?”

Dean raises an eyebrow at the question. “Do you have one spare?”

Rae smiles, “Of course. Might be a little more hygienic than him sucking on that,” she points to the elephant in Sam’s arms, one of the ears of which has found its way into Sam’s mouth.

“Yeah. I tried taking it away, but there were tears -”

“- And he’s currently in the hospital.”

“Exactly,” he shoots her a small grin at her understanding.

“I’ll send Stefan in. Don’t give me that look, Dean. Stefan’s a good guy. And there’s a reason I assigned him as Sam’s primary nurse while you’re here.”

Dean understands her meaning immediately, and it has nothing to do with them being hunters. “As much as I appreciate that, Rae, Sam’s not a Little.”

And it isn’t a denial, because Dean has had that thought himself more than once lately. He had discussed the little he knows of the age-play community when Cas had in fact brought it up as a viable explanation for Sammy’s behaviour after the other man found reference to it online. That Sammy is just slipping in and out of a ‘little’ headspace without recognising or understanding it. And to someone like Rae, who is fully aware of that community, Sammy’s behaviour must look like a neon sign. 

Rae leans forward and whispers, “Then what is he, if not a Little?” 

“I have no freaking idea, okay,” Dean hisses back. “Just… don’t say anything about it to him. If this _is_ just Sam finding his Little Self …” which Dean doesn’t believe to be true because the timing of Sammy’s regressive behaviour coming so soon after that spell being cast can’t be just a coincidence. But he’s not about to mention that whole thing. “… Then fair enough, you’ll have been right …”  

“Sam’s always been a Little,” Rae intones. “Though I doubt he could help it with having such a Big for a big brother.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “ _I’m_ not a Big. _Sam’s_ not a Little.”

“You keep on denying that, _Daddy_.” 

“Rae.”

She grins and holds up her hands. “Fine. Fine. I know when not to push.”

Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you come in here for something specific?” 

“Okay, back to the fun stuff I see.” She reaches out and brushes a finger over Sam’s hair once more. “Is he going to need to be sedated for his X-ray?” 

“No. I'll be right outside the door though.” 

Rae smiles, soft and light. “Figured you might.” She glances down at her watch before looking back to Dean. “It'll probably be another half hour before we can get Sam into radiology,” she says apologetically, uncrossing her legs and slipping herself off the bed, righting the skirt that had risen slightly on her way down. “We have a chock-a-block waiting room today.”

Dean nods understandingly, although he would love nothing more than to get Sammy fixed up right away, he’s also aware Sam’s injury is not top priority to the busy clinic. “What’s this?” he questions as he takes the prescription sheet Rae holds out to him.

“The antibiotic ear drops for Sam. One drop in each ear, morning and night. It’ll clear up those abrasions and any infection that might arise from them.”

“Thanks.”

“You said you have children’s Tylenol?” Dean nods to the question. “When you guys leave here, keep to the dosage on the bottle. But with Sam’s height you’ll be able to give him an extra half dose or even a full dose if the pain gets too bad and he’s not due his next dose for a while. And from that ‘I’m not an idiot, Rae’ look you’re giving me, you’re already plenty aware of that,” she chuckles. “He’s been keeping you on your toes, huh.”

Dean snorts softly at the loaded statement.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Hating himself for trying to wake Sammy this way, Dean carefully starts to tug the pacifier from Sam’s mouth. True to her word, Rae had sent Stefan in with it only a few minutes after she had left. The male nurse had simply stripped the pacifier from its packaging, rinsed it under the faucet and handed it to Dean without so much as a raised eyebrow or a hint of inwards or outwards disgust.

“Afraid we don’t have any bigger sizes. If my place was nearer I’d run home and get Sam one of my boy’s spares,” Stefan had said.

“Hey, man, this’ll be fine. Not many places would even cater to this. So thanks,” Dean had replied.

Dean had had to open Sammy’s mouth a little to get the elephant ear out. Sammy had whimpered and fussed until he had hold of the new pacifier. Unfortunately sensing it wasn’t his pacifier, he spit it out, his breath hitching. Dean slipped the pacifier back in his kid’s mouth before tears could start and just held it there (just as he had done when first giving Sammy a pacifier again) long enough for Sammy to latch on and be comfortable with this new one.

Or as comfortable as he was going to get.

Letting the memory go, Dean sighs when the kid’s teeth catch hold of the pacifier and suck it back in. He smiles, however, when Sammy’s groggy eyes flutter open. The kid squirms and smiles sleepily behind the pacifier and Dean can’t help smile back at how cute his little boy is.  

“Hi, De.”

“Hey, buddy, you gotta wake up for me a little more okay? It’s time to go for your X-ray.”

“Can go later, p’ease?” Sammy questions, speaking around the pacifier as he wriggles on the bed. “I’s sleepy.”

“I know. It’ll only be for a few minutes then you can go back to sleep.” Dean uses the bed controls to raise the head of the bed so Sam’s sitting up.

Sam takes the pacifier out of his mouth and stares at it bemused. “Not my dam-ding,” the kid holds it out to Dean and unceremoniously plops it in his outstretched hand.

Dean makes no mention of the near forty minutes the kid had slept with it in because Sammy seems more interested in the toy elephant.

“No, Sammy,” Dean chides, pulling the toy away when Sammy goes to put the soggy ear back in his mouth. “That’s dirty, buddy. That’s why I got you the new dam-ding. But what say we leave both your dam-ding and the toy here while we go for a spin to X-ray, huh?”  

Sam stares from the pacifier in Dean’s hand, to the elephant, back and forth several times, before nodding. “Okay.”

“Attaboy.”

Dropping the closest rail down, Dean slides his arms beneath Sam’s knees and behind his back, scooping him up bridal style, before carefully setting him down in a waiting wheelchair. 

“No way, De,” Sam moves to rise as soon as he realises what he’s sitting in. “I can walk fine.”  

“Sit.”

Sam does so with a pout. “Not a doggie.”

“You’re also not walking.” Dean squats down in front of him after draping a blanket over his kid’s lap. “Look, Sammy, I get it. I’d be grumbling too. But you’re lucky you didn’t crack your skull when you collapsed earlier, bud. I’m not chancing it happening again and you ending up further hurt. Okay?”

Seeing the need in his brother’s green eyes for Sam to understand, mixed with lingering fear from his collapse and the events prior, Sam easily acquiesces. “Okay.”  

Dean smiles, pats Sam’s knees, a grimace fluttering swiftly over his face as his right knee cracks upon rising. The grimace just as swiftly whisked away as green eyes meet worried hazel.

“Just an old injury playing up a little, bud. I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle.”

“Fiddles get broken,” Sam responds, not believing his brother’s excuse for a second.

Dean holds back a sigh. “Sammy, I'm fine. Just a few bruises is all.” 

“Have Rae look at it while we're here then,” the kid’s eyes turn beseeching and Dean's hard-pressed not to groan. “Please, De.” 

Dean huffs, but nods. “Alright, I will. But let's first get you to X-ray,” he says, walking around the wheelchair to grasp the handles, “before you decide I need a full medical work up.” And despite Dean standing behind Sammy as he wheels him out the door, he can still see the movement of his kid’s jaw. “Heard that.”

“No you didn't,” Sammy retorts.

“Oh I did.”

“Didn't.”

“Did.”

Reaching radiology a minute later, they meet Rae there and park off to the side as the patient already inside isn’t done yet. Leaning back against a wall, Dean's still confused how Sam getting Rae to promise to look at Dean's knee (the second the kid saw her he might add, drawing their intelligent back and forth bantering to a close, because seriously, they could go on forever with that unless stopped) evolved into a conversation about _Harry Potter_.

Luckily the wait before the door to X-ray opens isn't too long, and a young woman hobbles out on crutches, clearly not used to the contraptions. She gives them a smile as she passes them on her way to an older woman baring a striking resemblance to her on one of the few awaiting chairs.

“ _She’s_ not in a wheelchair,” Sam grumbles lowly. 

Hearing him, Dean leans down to his kid’s ear, “I doubt she collapsed not even two hours ago either.”

“Maybe not. But I’m pretty sure she woulda collapsed when she hurted her leg,” Sammy responds, a tiny smirk creasing one side of his mouth.

“Smartass.”

“Samuel Andrews.”

Rising to look at the radiographer now standing in the open doorway of X-ray, Dean gives the back of his brother’s neck a gentle squeeze. “You’re up, Sammy.”

Surprised when Rae takes Dean’s place behind the wheelchair to wheel him in, Sam turns in the chair to look up at Dean. It takes a moment to reach through the fog of painkiller induced grogginess for Sammy to understand. 

“You can’t come in,” he states, the both of them having been through this routine, with each other and with others, that they know the protocol well enough.

But still, Dean shakes his head. “I’ll be right out here, Sammy,” he reassures as he follows his kid’s chair to stand just outside the threshold of the door.

Sammy, however, is not reassured. His bottom lip pulls down into a pout and he turns those big puppy eyes up to the awaiting radiographer as if the policy is all his fault. The guy visibly gulps and turns his gaze to Rae, who chuckles.

“Lij, meet the Puppy-Eyes of Doom, otherwise known as Sam. Sam, meet Lij. Be nice, he’s a teddy bear.”

Sam huffs, eyes running up and down Lij’s frame to take him in. “You don’t look like a teddy bear. They’re fat and squishy. You’re not. We met a suicidal one once.”

Dean snorts in the doorway and quickly covers for his little brother’s slip, not knowing how much – if anything – this radiographer may know of the job some of the patients that come through the clinic’s doors occupy. “Some TV show he was watching.”

“Ah.”

“That’s my big brother, Dean,” Sam states proudly, and Dean’s lips quirk slightly. “He’s gonna wait _right outside that door_ , got it,” Sam adds, pointing a finger at Lij, who Dean notices quickly holding back a smile as he nods.  

Lij stands there feeling both wonder and amusement inside of him. Because this young man in front of him is a real life Little. When Rae had warned him Samuel Andrews might be displaying younger characteristics than his recorded age, he had asked why instead of simply nodding. Only thinking perhaps his next-on-the-list-patient may have disabilities. But Rae - non-judging as she is - knows Lij has dabbled with age-play, and whispered in his ear that Sam is a Little. He had been surprised and excited, for though he had dabbled he'd never met a Little before.

Those eyes directed at him make Sam look littler than little, and Lij isn’t sure he would go with puppy eyes. More like kitten. Like those of _Puss in Boots_ from _Shrek 2_. The ‘give me what I want or I’m gonna make _you_ cry’ eyes. Sam’s brother’s eyes, however, scare Lij a little; something in them that tells Lij the man would kick his ass if he were to hurt Sam.

“Dean’s more than welcome to do that, Sam,” he agrees seriously, holding true to his promise to Rae to be a true professional and make no mention of it.

“I know he is,” Sam says, matter-of-factly. “Cause that’s what he’s gonna do. De said so.” This time Lij does smile outright. “And if you hurt me he’s gonna come kick your bottom. He said that too you know.”

Lij swallows. He knew it. He looks to Rae, because he’s going to have to manipulate Sam’s arm slightly to do the X-ray, which can cause pain. Surely that doesn’t count as hurting Sam. Right?

“And with that introduction out the way, we’re gonna leave you to it,” she says quickly, giving Lij a winning smile as she draws the door closed with a click. “Was that the painkillers or nerves?” she questions Dean quietly, chuckling.

“Bit of both,” Dean responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’ll snap out of it once he starts chatting about what every machine in there does. As long as Lij keeps his mouth shut.” He levels a look at Rae.

She has the grace to look sheepish. “I'm sorry. I know it wasn't my place to say anything to anyone, but I didn't want Lij caught off guard,” she quietly tells him. “He won't say anything. He'll have me to deal with if he does.”

“Oh he won't be dealing with anyone, honey, if a single word of this leaves his lips,” Dean drops his voice so only she can hear as he steps in close, leaning down to speak against her ear. “Because I'll have already snapped his neck.”

A chill descends down Rae’s spine as he pulls back, enough for her to see the promise in Dean’s eyes, as if she hadn't already heard it within his threat. A sharp reminder of just how dangerous a man Dean can be, despite the way he is with his little brother. Everyone else outside of their immediate circle a potential threat to them. 

She has heard the rumour-mill throughout the years and she remembers hearing of Roy and Walt’s disappearance. Two hunters who bragged they ‘killed the Winchesters dead’ or ‘killed that hell-spawn Winchester right in front of Dean’. They laughed about it. Toasted their victory. Didn’t care about the warning from Dean they were all too eager to brag about too. Other hunter’s told them they were dead men walking. Because as much as Winchesters’ were not on a lot of hunters’ friend lists, you were an idiot not to be wary of them, and you were even more of an idiot to kill one of them in front of the other.

Especially if the ‘other’ was Dean.

No one was surprised when Roy and Walt disappeared between the failed apocalypse and Dean’s own subsequent disappearance into domesticity.

So when it comes to his brother’s safety, Rae is well aware Dean’s threats aren't idle, but she also knows one thing he isn't. “You're not a stone cold killer, Dean. Especially of an innocent.”

“You haven't known me for years, Rae. No matter how much you think you might know about me and about Sam, you don't. And if I have to do what's necessary to keep my kid safe because you were doing what you thought best, that'll be on your head. Not mine.”

Rae cannot negate the truth of Dean's words. Despite their friendly bantering earlier, she _doesn't_ really know the man before her anymore. And if Lij was hurt because of something she told him out of turn, then it _would_ be her fault.

“Lij won’t speak a word of this, Dean,” she promises, happy to hear the sturdiness remain in her own voice. “Not when exposing Sam would expose himself.”

“Is that all that’s keeping his word?”

“No,” she says quickly, “I’ll ensure it.”

“Make sure you do, Rae.” 

The door to X-ray opens, punching a hole through the tension in the little bubble surrounding them.  

Dean glances down at his watch and Rae wouldn't put it passed him to have timed every second Sam was out of his sight. And as Lij wheels Sam out of the room to rejoin them, she honestly shouldn't be surprised how swiftly Dean's demeanour changes. The man who had threatened Lij's life not even a minute ago receding to just below the surface as the sweet and caring big brother takes centre stage. Squeezing the back of Sam's neck in a gentle gesture of comfort and reassurance, teasing Lij about not having to kick his bottom like Sam had warned on entering X-ray.

And she realises Dean can shift so easily because those two sides of him seamlessly coexist for the boy in that chair. The two sides blending into this man and hunter who has done so much for the world, yet would watch the world burn to save his little brother. And from what she's heard over the years, sweet little Sam, who is smiling shyly as he says goodbye to Lij, is just as dangerous as his big brother when pushed the wrong way.

Rae excuses herself after ensuring Dean is able to settle Sam back in his room, the man responding in the affirmative with a smirk and salute. But that dark reminder flashes in his eyes while Sam faces her way instead of his. She nods minutely, offers a smile and tells Sam she’ll see him in a bit.

She has films to review and a sweet guy to keep alive.  

#

Dean watches Rae go, hoping she’ll hold up her end of the deal. He doesn’t want to hurt Lij, he seemed like a good guy who just ended up in the middle of a situation he shouldn’t have been placed in. But he will always do what’s necessary to protect Sam, and if that includes shutting a guy up with physical violence, then that is what Dean will do.

He looks back down at Sammy when he feels a thumb pressing against his stomach, a white sticker with a gold star now adorning his shirt. “What’s this?”

Sam waves him down and Dean goes to be eye level with his kid. Sam twirls a finger and Dean shifts his head so his ear is near to Sammy’s mouth. “Lij gave it to me for being a brave boy,” Sammy whispers, a slight pink tinge coating his cheeks.

Dean smiles, twirls his own finger for Sammy to turn his head so he can whisper into Sam’s ear. “Good. Cause there ain’t no braver boy than my little man.”

Sam smiles shyly at him as Dean draws away, a finger reaching up to rub over the sticker Dean planted on his forehead. For lack of shirt space of course.

Returning to the room, and before Dean can settle Sammy back on the bed, Sammy is out of the wheelchair, blanket trailing behind him as he shuffles straight over to the rocker. Wide beseeching eyes look to Dean as Sammy pats the arm of the rocker, before grimacing slightly and glaring down at the cannula in his hand.

“Alright, baby,” Dean soothes, picking up the toy elephant and the pacifier from the bed before walking over and settling himself into the rocker, shifting to get comfortable.

Dean pulls his kid down onto his lap and hands over the toy, Sammy tucking it in against his chest once again. He holds up the pacifier, and Sam takes it, but slides the ring on one of the elephant’s soft tusks rather than putting the nipple in his mouth. The kid then holds up the hand with the cannula to Dean.

“Out now?” Sammy questions.

“Not yet, baby,” Dean denies the request as he carefully sets the hand down onto Sammy’s thigh and wraps the blanket back around him. “Is it hurting?”

“No,” Sammy admits begrudgingly. “Just don’t likes it.”

“I know, baby. And as soon as Rae gives the all clear, I’ll get them to take it out. Until then, what say we read a story,” Dean offers, nodding his head towards the bookshelf beside them.

Sam sits up a little to peruse the titles. “All little kid’s books,” he states turning back to Dean, who gasps theatrically.  

“Young man, didn’t anybody ever tell you kid’s books are the most fun?”

Sam giggles lightly. “Mmm-hmm. But he likes comic books best, so …” Sam shrugs his right shoulder.

“Graphic novels, little geek,” Dean corrects. “And exactly my point. Pictures. Fun.” He nods his head back to the shelf. “Pick one.”

“Okay,” Sam huffs, but there’s a little smile at the corner of his lips and Dean refrains from smirking triumphantly. “Ummmmm,” Sammy draws it out as his eyes run back and forth over the titles. “Oh.” Sammy gives a little bounce on Dean’s lap and Dean knows the kid found one he truly enjoys. “‘Owl Moon’, De, p’ease.”

Dean reaches over and withdraws the book from the shelf. “Alright. Get comfortable, my little Monkey.”

Sam leans against him and carefully wriggles himself down so he can rest his head against Dean’s shoulder without cricking his neck. Pulling the elephant to him, he sticks the ear in his mouth, suckling softly.

He doesn’t see Dean refraining himself from sighing at the sight, and Dean doesn’t bother to mention the ignored pacifier. He’ll swap it out when Sammy is asleep. He wraps an arm around his kid’s back and rests his hand just above Sammy’s hip, mindful of the arm sitting in the sling.

Setting the now open book on Sam’s lap so he has a hand free to turn the pages, Dean begins to read, voice deep and low, soothing. “ _It was late one winter night, long past my bedtime, when Pa and I went owling._ ” Sammy pulls his arm free from the blanket and runs his finger over the tiny and shadowed ‘Pa and kid’ at the bottom left of the page while Dean continues to read from the right hand-side. “ _There was no wind. The trees stood still as giant statues. And the moon was so bright the sky seemed to shine. Somewhere behind us a train whistle blew, long and low, like a sad, sad song._ ”

Sam yawns suddenly and widely and Dean knows they’ll be lucky to get through the next few pages, let alone the book, before Sammy drifts off again.

 

**#SPN#**

 

“You mean he did this?” Rae says into her cell phone as she stands at her office window, looking down into the courtyard garden below, a focal point of the clinic surrounded by four walls. “But how can it not have been?” She questions, turning away to take a seat in her desk chair. “He was the original bearer, his twisted grace infused with the thing… Well no. Unless you know of any vessels he used that weren’t destroyed for me to autopsy? … Aside from him, of course.”

She snorts softly as she listens to the speaker on the other end, picking up a carrot stick from her lunch to nibble at. “Right. I’d have to make up a bunch of bullshit to make that fly with his brother. You don’t just do an entire body scan for a broken arm… Fine,” she lets out a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do, but I make no promises. What? … Yes, Sam’s showing signs. I haven’t a clue how long, I’m not the one who sporadically tails the Winchesters’, am I? Talk to Mace.” She laughs sourly, raising an eyebrow. “Give Dean a push, huh? Already did. And you know what, it was probably a push too far. His protective instincts of his brother have already doubled.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I’ll be there.”  

She ends the call, eyes glued to Sam Winchester’s X-ray displayed on her computer screen before her as she sets her phone onto the desk. A few taps of fingertips against the keyboard and the image zooms in. A sigh escapes her as she stares at her surprising find.

She is sorely tempted to open Sam’s arm up once she has him on her operating table. To see with her own eyes the truth of what the X-ray is showing her. But opening the arm would be a fruitless exercise in answering several other questions she has. And no matter what answers she wants, she cannot – will not – put Sam through extensive surgery when he only needs to be put under anaesthesia to realign the break in his ulna. A break that does not require open surgery. Just manipulation that would be excruciating to anyone whilst awake.

So now she just needs to figure out how the hell she can get an extensive look at Sam’s entire skeletal structure without raising Winchester suspicions. And remembering how Dean had just known she had told Lij Sam is a Little, it may not be all that easy.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you all bored yet? ;)


	17. Chapter Sixteen Part Two

**Chapter Sixteen: Part Two**

 

 

Sam slowly and begrudgingly rises to waking, laid out on soft mattress, so he knows he’s back in the bed again. He's glad that silly and small and not _his_ dam-ding isn't in his mouth this time. But where's Ele the elephant and its ear?

He doesn't move to find it though because he doesn’t want to wake up yet.

He’s sleepy.

And he’s had to wake up twice already.

Once to have his uncooperative arm manipulated this way and that for the X-ray, and the other to have a DEXA scan to check him for osteoporosis after Rae reviewed his X-ray.

So now he’s awaiting the results of that and to have his broken arm re-aligned in surgery when Sam would rather Cas just healed him and get it over with, so they can get out of here. But Dean and Cas both won’t budge where the use of their powers are concerned. Sam’s latest collapse having made them even more hostile to the idea of using them.

And despite his sleepiness, he can recall his earlier behaviour easily enough, but for once he feels unapologetic. Research still lies heavily in his future, because Sam wants and needs to know why the hell the spell did this; pulled this regressive behaviour out of him when he’s an adult. But right now, he has the perfect excuse for his behaviour.

He can blame it all on the heavy dose of painkillers.

It’s beautiful, really.  

It's just too bad it's the only time he can get away with that excuse.

Eyes still firmly closed, Sam tunes in to the murmur of voices around him. He easily recognises the harsh whispers belonging to Dean and Cas – the latter having arrived and been waiting in the room for them both upon their return from the DEXA scan. Without opening his eyes or alerting Dean to his wakefulness, Sam listens more intently to try and figure out what they could be arguing about.  

“…my assistance, Dean. I wish more than anything to remain here, but if it _is_ Rowena, we may lose our chance to talk to her without Crowley’s demons immediately snatching her away.”

Sam cracks his eyes open ever so slightly, enough to take in his brother and the former-angel. They are both seated – Dean still in the tall-backed rocker beside the bed Sam occupies and Cas on a hard plastic chair in front of Dean – and there is tension in both of their postures. Dean is leaning forwards, elbows resting on his knees so he is nearer to Cas to have their private conversation (especially with the topic). Though beneath one elbow looks to be a notebook Sam doesn’t remember seeing earlier. And the pen in Dean’s hand keeps being clicked, a sure sign of Dean’s frustration.

“I get that. You’ve said it enough in the last two minutes alone, but Sam comes first …”

“I _am_ putting Sam first, Dean. Crowley has given us this two week deadline …”

“Yeah, which means the second thing on our to-do list, behind getting a broken arm sorted, is getting Sammy to the Jeffries so he's protected from possession. And you’re not protected from that either if you remember.”

And right there Sam understands why Dean now seems to be so against Cas going to Vancouver. Not that Sam wants him to go either, but he can recognise what’s going on with his brother.

Dean's mind currently has one plan set out – to protect his family.

Fiercely and unapologetically.

And that plan doesn't include Cas going off alone - even if it is to provide back up and help their own situation. The anger and brashness Dean's coping mechanism. Especially for being fought against when his mind is set on a designated path for them to travel.

Sam has often had to rise up against it. Not so much to defend his own independence, but to stall Dean’s protectiveness from sliding into irrational.

It had caused many a shouting match.

“If you both shut up, you might realise there’s another way,” Sam interrupts just as quietly, drawing both of their immediate attention, the sight of the notebook having given him an idea he should have thought of sooner. “Although I agree with Cas,” he adds quickly before either can speak, looking apologetically at his brother, who’s expression hardens. Sam has to refrain from wincing and continue, “I mean, it’s just, if Rowena is sensible – and unfortunately we know she is – she’ll haul up in the least likely of places. She’s already had a hunter dispatch a demon in Vancouver. Who’d think she’d go back there?”

“We do, obviously,” Dean snarks.

“Well, yeah, _we’re_ sensible too,” Sam smiles softly, trying to lessen the harshness in Dean’s eyes that is darkening the green; the glare of the room’s lighting making them look _too_ dark. It works, but only slightly, and Sam still has to carry on. “But Crowley’s demons sure wouldn’t. At least not those still loyal to him. They’re minions, they don’t think for themselves.”

“Alright, Sammy, I’ll bite,” Dean sighs, voice risen only slightly from his previous whisper. “What’s that big ol’ brain of yours figured out?”

“Just how we can circulate Rowena’s image around the hunter network.”

“We don’t have a photo of her, Sam,” Cas reminds.

“We don’t _need_ a photo. Just her image.”

Dean opens his mouth, closes it and shakes his head, while Cas frowns. “Alright, you lost us.”

“Look at it this way,” Sam begins, looking directly at his brother, “I’m staring at someone who has a near photographic memory when it comes to the faces of those that make the mistake of pissing him off. Especially if they come after or hurt his family.”

Dean’s confusion instantly clears, his gaze dropping down to the notepad in his lap (leaving Sam wondering if Dean had done some other drawing while Sam was asleep) and the protest sails off Dean’s tongue. “Oh, hell, no. You want me to draw _her_? I can think of a thousand and one other things I’d prefer to be doing than that.”

“Oh. Okay. Well… I guess the hunter network can fumble around in the dark,” Sam raises his right shoulder in a small, half shrug. “I’m sure one of them might stumble on a three-hundred year old redheaded witch at some point in the future.”

Dean’s eyes narrow at the blatant manipulation going on before him. He then sighs at the sight of the droopy puppy eyes staring at him. “Dammit, Sammy,” Dean grumbles, unable to refute his baby brother’s logic. “You’re a pain in my ass, kid.”

Smiling inwardly, Sam sees a small smile flitter across Cas’ lips, which the man quickly and unsuccessfully tries to hide behind his hand.

“If you’ve figured this out – and yes it’s a good idea - why are we saying Cas still needs to go?”

“Can you knock out a detailed drawing that quickly?” Sam questions, not unkindly, knowing while Dean can draw portraits brilliantly, it still takes him a couple hours to lay down an outline.

His brother a perfectionist when it comes to getting it right - especially when it comes to the drawings of monsters and creatures for their files – and Dean will be even more so with this because it’s going out to the network.

Dean turns to Cas. “Fine. You can go.”

Cas clines his head in acknowledgement, before standing and moving around to the other side of the bed. Sam looks up at him as Cas leans down over the safety rail. “ _Stay_ with your brother please.”

“Pretty sure I’m not getting a choice in that, Cas,” Sam replies, glancing at his brother who only stares back firmly, eyes telling Sam all he needs to know. “And while we’re on the topic of safety… Dean’s also right, Cas,” Sam adds, turning back to the former-angel and ignoring the flash of a smirk he witnesses crossing his brother’s lips. “You’re _not_ protected. So, can you, you know, be extra careful, please?”

“I will do my best.”

“You better do better than your best or I’ll kick your ass when you get back,” Dean declares, eyes still focused on Sam as he makes the threat to Cas.

“He despises me really, Little One,” Cas whispers against Sam’s ear, the one farthest away from Dean, as he gives Sam a quick hug.

Sam smiles lightly, returning the hug. “Of course.”

Cas pulls back and gives him a wink – something Sam’s pretty sure the former-angel picked up from Dean – before placing a kiss on Sam’s forehead. “Behave.”

“Sit. Stay,” Sam grumbles.

“Woof,” Cas responds and Sam can’t help chuckling this time.

It tapers off quickly as Dean and Cas look at each other but say nothing. Cas turns, crossing to the door, and after opening it, steps out before drawing it closed.

And Sam suddenly feels bereft, as if part of him was just torn away, but he turns to his brother. “Dean …”

“Leave it, Sam,” Dean sighs, leaning back in the rocker.

And Sam does. As much as he tries to get Dean to talk, he knows when to leave well enough alone too and just leave the man to his own thoughts. But it doesn’t mean Sam can’t show his presence and support, and gain the comfort he also needs. So he curls the fingers of his right hand into the fabric of Dean’s closest jacket sleeve. Dean doesn’t react and Sam hadn’t expected him to, but his fingers aren’t removed.

“So… any chance you bought pencils with my markers?” Sam asks after a long silence, “You can sketch while I drive to Seattle.”

Dean turns his head to the side to stare at him, not quite ready for a smile or a snort to slip out. “There’s not a chance in hell you’re getting behind Baby’s wheel with a cast on your arm.”

“I managed it before,” Sam pouts.

“And the dumpster rudely said hello when it didn’t jump out of the way of my car in time, right?”

“There was a three foot wide cat I had to swerve out the way of, Dean,” Sam protests around a yawn. “I’m pretty sure it was a miniature tiger or a wildcat, you know. That wouldda done more damage to ‘Pala than that dumpster did.”

A small smile finally flitters across Dean’s lips, the man shaking his head at the not-so-true story.

“Sammy, you keep putting that ear in your mouth I'm gonna take the elephant away,” Dean scolds mildly, when the kid goes to do just that.

Sam stills, mouth unconsciously reaching out for the ear and blinks at Dean, pulling the toy closer to his chest and shaking his head.

“No you're not going to put it in your mouth or no I'm not taking it away?”

“Um… both?”

"Why don't you give this another try?” Dean questions, holding out the pacifier Sam seems to despise.

“No. Not mine, De.”

“All right.” Dean sets it back on the bookshelf, nipple facing up, and recalling how territorial Sammy used to be about having only his own pacifiers. The reason he used to have to hunt high and low for the ‘dam-dings’. And from what he's witnessed so far, he's looking at repeat performances.

Except now he can afford pacifier clips, he reminds himself, something he couldn’t afford when Sammy was younger.

“So, did I hear right that Crowley's given us two weeks to find Rowena?” Sam questions, having gathered that much from Dean and Cas’ prior conversation.

He hadn't been able to hear all that much back at the building when he was hanging upside down.

Save for when Crowley was yelling.

Dean sighs, drawing himself back to ‘adult conversation’ mode as he shifts himself around in the rocker so he’s facing Sam. The kid seems to be shifting more smoothly between ‘adult’ and ‘kid’ since accepting his pacifier back in that building. It can throw Dean for a moment, but like everything else, he's had plenty of practice shifting gears where this kid is concerned.

“Yep. A whole two weeks. Fourteen days. Including today.”

“Maybe you should follow Cas, get out there …” Sam begins, only to fall silent at the fierce glare his brother levels at him.

“Don’t even think about it, Sam. I’m not leaving here until _you_ do, so get that outta your head right now.”

“But …”

“No. There are no buts here, Samuel. Save yours in that bed. And mine in this chair. Am I clear?”

“Yeah, you’re clear,” Sam responds, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m guessing I don’t wanna know what’ll happen if we don’t meet Crowley’s deadline.”

“No,” Dean responds tightly, eyes unconsciously flickering to Sam’s arm held in the sling. “You really don’t.”

“But I should.”

Dean sighs again, hand reaching out to brush Sam’s hair back from his forehead, thumb brushing down his cheek. “Yeah. Don’t mean I gotta like you knowing.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t trying to protect me,” Sam replies quietly, honestly.

Dean gives him a half-smile. “Damn straight.”

“And speaking of protecting me… there’s no real need to give me a spanking now, right?”

Dean’s eyebrow rises. “There’s not, huh? So tell me something, kiddo. Were you naughty this morning?”

“Naughty is such a varied word, Dean, it …”

“ _Sam_.”

“Yes,” Sam huffs, really wanting to cross his arms across his chest, but unable to do so. “I was naughty this morning,” he admits, face flushing at the childish word.

“Then can you tell me if you’re still due a spanking?”

Sam nibbles at his bottom lip as he nods slowly. “But not here, right?”

“Nope. You’re gonna get it that’s for sure, but not here,” Dean assures. “We’re getting your arm fixed up and we’ll deal with what these DEXA results might bring …”

“And the protection tat,” Sam whispers, all too clearly aware his procrastinating on the tattoo front has now been forced to an abrupt end.

Ideally, he would like to be able to say ‘sure, let’s get to it’ without his fear overriding logic. That he could push aside the memories of millions of long and thick needles piercing every inch of his body. The devil had been inside Sam’s head – Lucifer knew every fear and exploited each and every one.

Daily tortures Lucifer had revelled in.

Sam would have done anything for the long years to stop and then it did. He awoke back in his body, the familiar and hated iron walls of Uncle Bobby’s panic room surrounding him, with no memory other than a sense he’d been gone for days. Only to find out he had in actuality been gone for eighteen months, a wall of Death’s design holding back his hell memories, and those of his soulless body’s actions.

Sam sometimes wishes he was made of stone, so those memories and fears no longer have any impact or hold over him. But he is not made of stone. Just as Dean isn’t. Though his brother often likes to think he is. They both have emotions; fears and mental scars that run deep.

However, neither one of them is made of glass either.

“For obvious reasons I haven’t pushed you to get the tattoo redone, Sammy,” Dean starts, even though he is more than aware that no matter his own failings on the issue, he should have pushed.

Sam can be too stubborn for his own good sometimes, and while Dean recognises the kid’s fear of needles having been a major factor against getting the tattoo redone, it is still not a good enough excuse. On either of their parts. They know the outcome if not protected. That was visibly and horrifyingly made all too clear today.

“But it’s a decision that is no longer yours to make. I hate having to force the issue like this, kiddo, but we haven’t been left any other option.”

“I get it, Dean,” Sam says quietly, fingers squeezing around Dean’s jacket until the man fully meets his eyes. “I get it,” he reiterates.  

Because he does.

Dean makes the hard choices and steps in when Sam is unable to make those choices for himself. Dean has done it his whole life, and it has taken Sam a long time to understand that Dean will never be any other way. His big brother will forever be his protector. And sometimes, Dean does things in Sam’s best interest, especially when Sam cannot see it himself.

And no matter how angry it can make him.

But he feels no anger for this decision; actually feels lightened that Dean has taken it away from him. Because Sam said it himself, he has procrastinated for over two years and he knows he would continue to do so for as long as he could get away with it.

But now he will do what is necessary. He just cannot make any promises as to how he’ll react once faced with that chair and tattoo gun.

"You been researching while I've been sleeping?” Sam questions, shifting in the bed to ease his numb bum, wanting to draw both their minds away from the tattoo, at least for now.

“Yep.” Dean shakes his head. “Seems every step we’re taking lately is only resulting in nothing but new stuff to research.”

“What'd you mean? I know we got the spell and that vortex …” Sam shudders at just mentioning that thing. “What else we got?”

“This.” Dean opens his notebook and flicks through it a couple pages before holding it up to show Sam.

He had been right when he thought Dean had been sketching in that notebook. Two wolf-like beasts are sketched in pen on the page, one slightly larger than the other. Wolf-like, because while they resemble traditional wolves, there are slight differences. Bodies, while probably the size equivalent of the Grey Wolf or slightly larger, the heads are massive, making it look like a giant wolf, with longer and wider snouts and tall ears.

“Where did you see them?”

Dean explains the happenings back at the building Sam was being held. Filling in several blanks for Sam. Like the bigger of the two wolves swallowing that vortex creature, the cause of the things screeching that had resulted in the abrasions now in Sam’s ears. He frowns at hearing they can turn invisible – just like hellhounds. That being what Dean first thought they were.

And Sam cannot hold back his laughter as Dean tells of how the bigger of the two wolves sunk its teeth into Crowley’s bottom. He has to hold his left arm with his right just to stop it jarring.

“I wish I’d seen that,” Sam gets out once his chuckles taper off.

“I really wanted to laugh at the time, Sammy, but I was a little more preoccupied,” Dean says, using the moment to expend that wanted laughter. “I was thinking they could be some kinda wolf-hellhound hybrid. But that just generated fictional game character results. Giant wolf brought up direwolves …”

“Venator,” Sam whispers.

Dean frowns at hearing the Latin, and while not as fluent in the dead language as Sam, he knows enough. And he definitely knows the English translation of that word.

“Hunter,” he states. “What’s that got to do with them?”

“Err …” Sam feels his face heat. “I was kinda curious one day about-about the direwolves in _Game of Thrones_. And seen as we have such an awesome archive, I wanted to know if there was a supernatural equivalent to the real life direwolf of the Ice Age …”

“You are such a geek, little brother,” Dean chuckles fondly.

“ _Anyway_ …” Sam stresses with a mild glare at his brother. Chuckling once more, Dean waves for him to go on. “There were a couple supernatural species’, but the one that stuck out the most was a species called Venator. They most resembled the build and features of a direwolf.”  

“And these Venator, they have supernatural abilities?”

Sam nods, eyes glazing over as he goes internal to recall information he read a couple years back. While he does, Dean inputs ‘Venator’ into the search engine on the tablet. As suspected it draws up businesses, the English meaning, _Star Wars_. He adds ‘supernatural wolf’ to the search and gets a distinctly different set of results. He tunes into his brother’s words as Sammy starts talking while he continues his own search.    

“Okay, so I remember reading that they can use both light and shadows to their advantage. They don’t disappear as much as they blend into their surroundings. Like chameleons. They can absorb supernatural – like other creatures for example. They supposedly store it in a kind of pouch within their bellies and spew it out later to kill.” Sam pulls a disgusted face, his fingers intermittently squeezing the elephant in his hold and brushing over the fur. “There’s a few other things, but from your explanation of events, I’m guessing some of that sounds familiar.”

“Definitely,” Dean says, glancing up at him before looking back to the tablet in his hand and the small amount of information he had been able to pull up while listening to Sammy. “Says here that the last known sighting was around a hundred years ago though.”

“Yeah,” Sam recalls. “It’s why they’re thought to have been wiped out.”

“Guess that explains why Crowley was so freaked out when he saw them. So where’d they come from?”

Sam shrugs. “Where does anything we deal with come from?”

“There’s another name for them,” Dean says reading another paragraph down the screen. “Amicus Venator.”

“Hunter friend,” Sam translates the Latin easily, scrubbing an eye against the elephant’s fur. “As in… ‘friend to hunters’?” He questions through a yawn and Dean decides it's time they draw this impromptu research session to a close.

“All right, little man, time to get some more shut-eye.”

“Aww, Dean, I've done nothing but sleep,” Sam complains. “And I'm gonna be sleeping soon for my surgery.”

“That’s not a true sleep, kiddo. The more rest you get now, the less sleepy you'll be after. Do you want a story?”

Sam nods. "Can you sit on the bed with me this time?”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Sitting sideways in the rocker so Sammy can see him more easily and notebook in hand, Dean tries not to rip the irritating and bulky brace off his knee that Rae supplied upon inspecting it. Something he had declined, but she had insisted upon, putting up a good argument as to why he should keep his knee in a brace for a week and seek some physiotherapy. Neither one of them speaking of their earlier words and carrying on as if it never happened.

And while she looked him over, he’d set a pot of colouring bits down in front of Sammy, setting the boy the task of finding him some pencils for his drawing of that skank whore. And Sammy had come through, finding a whole pack of HB pencils. With a quick glance up to check on Sammy, Dean continues to brush one of those pencils across the page in the room’s limited lighting.

It's nearing nine P.M. and all but fresh from his surgery his kid is not sleeping, just resting on the bed with the elephant tucked against his chest while they wait for Sammy's late dinner to be prepared. Happier now that the cannula no longer resides in his hand as he suckles heavily on the soft spout of the sippy-cup Stefan had brought in ten minutes ago. The beauty of the cup not allowing more than a few drops at a time so that Sammy doesn't intake too much at once. The kid prone to puking after anaesthesia if he guzzles down water too quickly.

So far there have been no upchucking incidents. Not that Sammy has anything in his stomach _to_ throw up.

Dean glances up when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye, hand going to the knife in his boot while his head snaps around towards the room door. He smiles, relaxing upon seeing Cas quietly sneaking in the door. His partner deposits the two plastic carrier’s in his hold on a sideboard near the door before stepping further into the room, offering a smile to Dean.

“Is he asleep?” the former-angel whispers.

“Cas!”

Considering the kid only woke from his anaesthesia a half hour ago and has only the use of one arm, Sammy is down at the end of the bed, up on his knees and leaning against the footboard like a shot at the sight of the former-angel’s return.

“Shh, Sammy, it’s late, baby,” Dean scolds mildly, depositing the flung sippy-cup he had caught onto the bed while scooping his baby up before he can tumble over the footboard in his excitement and seats him on his hip. “Other patients are sleeping.”

“Shh,” Sammy whispers while putting a finger to his lip.

Cas smiles at their sweet little one as he steps forward and presses a kiss to Sam’s forehead. He has missed his child and his partner terribly, even during such a short absence. Thankfully, Dean has kept him apprised of Sam's condition while he had assisted Kara. At least as little assistance as she had needed by the time he had reached Kara’s location.

Sam squishes his elephant under his arm, hoping the reunion of his brother and Cas goes smoother than the way they left it on Cas’ departure. He is therefore surprised when both men lean forward together and press a kiss to each other’s lips as if nothing happened earlier.

“It’s called texts, baby boy,” Dean supplies upon noticing his kid’s confused expression.

It takes a moment to figure out what his brother is talking about, but then it sinks in and Sam rolls his eyes. Seriously. They apologised to each other over texts? No doubt while Sam was sleeping so he couldn’t ask any questions. Typical Dean.

“Doctor Rae fixed my owie,” he says, changing the subject so he can show off the neon orange cast now encasing his left thumb, hand and forearm up to his elbow. “And we’re gonna leave soon.”

“Sammy, we’ll be leaving after you’ve eaten something and pooped,” Dean reminds.

“Why you gotta mention that?” Sammy whines, embarrassed, burying his face in Dean’s neck.

“Little One, you have no need to be embarrassed about a natural bodily function around me and your brother,” Cas reminds. “You certainly hold no embarrassment around us when you pass gas.”

Sammy giggles against Dean's neck at Cas’ bluntness. Dean winks at the other man who smiles his achievement.

All three still as the door opens, and Stefan enters carrying a tray. “One yummy salmon and cheese potato dinner for the young calf.”

“Calf?” Cas queries.

“It's what they call elephant babies.” Sam supplies with a roll of his eyes as he draws himself away from Dean’s neck, holding up the toy elephant to show Cas. “Stef thinks he's being cute.”

Stefan laughs, setting Sam's tray down on the table ready to roll it over Sam's bed. “I _am_ cute,” he replies with a wink.

“Are you flirting with my child?” Cas demands, confused by the interaction, while Sam's mouth drops open and Stefan straightens, meeting Cas’ stern blue eyes.

But Dean laughs lightly. “Stefan’s just playing, Cas,” he calmly says, placing a hand on his partner’s arm and giving a squeeze. “Bantering. Like me and Sammy do.”

“Oh.” The fire in Cas’ eyes cools upon Dean’s explanation. “I apologise, Stefan. I have been told I sometimes have a tendency to take things …”

“Literally,” Sam and Dean chorus taking the word from Cas’ mouth.  

“Stefan, this is Cas,” Dean introduces. “Cas, this is Stefan, the guy who helped us out on the road this afternoon.”

Dropping his arm from Sam’s back, Cas crosses straight to a surprised Stefan and stretches out his hand. “Thank you for helping my family,” Cas voice is now filled with gratitude.

Letting a smile free, Stefan takes the outstretched hand and shakes it. “Just doing my job, man.”

“Hmm, I hear that often from others,” Cas’ states with a glance towards Sam and Dean.

“Time for dinner,” Dean announces, swiftly moving away from that topic as he deposits Sammy back on the bed.

But he doesn’t miss the small smile on Stefan’s lips as the nurse leaves them to it. And not for the first time today Dean has to wonder if the man is one of the clinics staff members aware of what they do. He just isn’t willing to up and ask.

Dean pulls Sam’s fingers out of the cheese sauce accompanying the salmon, broccoli and sliced potatoes on his plate. “You want this mixed up, Sammy?”

Sam nods, sucking the sauce from his fingers. Cas seats himself in the free space between footboard and safety rail on the left side of the bed. Finished with cutting and mixing up Sammy’s food, Dean swallows a mouthful of the coke he’d grabbed from the clinics cafeteria during Sam’s surgery, a burp bubbling up and escaping him loudly as he screws the lid back on.

Cas stares at him amused and Sammy just continues sticking his fingers in his sauce. Dean once again pulls the fingers away.

“It’s not for playing with, Sammy,” he scolds, before scooping up a small spoonful. He holds the spoon to Sam’s mouth, the kid accepting it in without fuss.

“I likes broc’li,” Sam states between chewing, cheese sauce dribbling down his chin.

And without a bib on it drips down onto the scrub top Dean had put the kid in earlier after Sammy woke from his surgery. Now glad he had decided against putting him in his new pyjamas.

“Please do not talk with your mouth full of food, Little One,” Cas chides mildly.

Sam snaps his mouth closed to finish chewing while Dean turns back from grabbing the pack of baby wipes off the bookshelf behind him. He dumps them on the bed ready to clean up Sammy once he’s finished eating, raising an eyebrow at Cas’ disapproving gaze directed at him.

“What? I didn’t teach him that,” Dean defends himself, although technically he probably did. He’s not known for his own table manners.

Sam opens his mouth for more. Dean obliges, making sure not to overfill each spoonful as Sam’s stomach has been empty for a while, and especially not on top of having the anaesthesia. He would like to get Sammy out of here without having had any puking incidents.

Within minutes, Sam’s plate is empty save for the dregs of sauce, which Sammy is delighting in swirling his fingers around in again. And Dean would like to say the kid isn’t any messier than the original drop of cheese sauce on the scrub top, but he’d be lying. The kid’s chin and cheeks are now smeared with sauce and bits of broccoli and several more dribbles now decorate the scrubs.

Sam whines when his fingers are pulled out of the sauce and scrunches his face, trying to squirm away as Dean cleans his face and the hand not encased in a cast.

Cas pulls the table away, ensuring Sam can no longer stick his fingers in the remaining sauce on his plate and parks it off to the side. And after balling up the dirty wipe and bulls-eyeing it onto Sam’s plate, Dean leans down to look in Sammy’s eyes.

“Who feels up to getting into some new pj’s?”

“Me,” Sammy smiles, holding his arms up to Dean, who scoops him up. “Be back in minute, Cas.”

“I shall be right here upon you’re return, Little One.”

“Okeydokey,” Sam yawns as Dean carries him into the bathroom along with the bag holding the new pyjamas. 

Setting Sam on the open toilet seat, Dean removes the scrub pants fully. “Try and go potty, baby.”

But Sammy doesn’t need any encouragement, his bladder opening up even as Dean says the words.

Pulling the pyjamas from the carrier, Dean removes them from their packaging. Along with the pair of socks and boxer-briefs. And though the kid is now back to briefs, these were apparently the only underwear Cas could find in Sammy’s size in the small store he’d visited. Which is fine until they get back to the motel. They have fresh underwear there, even if none other items of Sam’s clothing is clean.

Sam stands from the toilet, finished with his business and Dean strips the scrub top off of him. He really should give the kid a wash, but that can wait as well until they’re back at the motel.

"Jammies,” Sam snatches the top from Dean's fingers and Dean is about to scold him when Sam's face lights up, big grin spreading across his lips. “Iron Man jammies!” The kid bounces on his toes, spinning the top around to show him the picture of Iron Man mid-flight on the front. “Look, De!”

Dean smiles as Sam, clearly finished showing him, cuddles the shirt to his now bare chest. He's glad Cas did good with the clothes shopping by himself this go around. “I see, buddy. What say we get it on ya?”

“Oh yeah,” Sammy giggles, flourishing the shirt at Dean.

He takes it and first gets the kids arms in it, happy the left sleeve passes easily over the cast, before he puts it over Sam's head and down his upper body. The kid smooths a hand over Iron Man on the front, still grinning.

After getting the underwear on the kid, he takes the pyjama pants out of the packaging, shaking them out. He thinks they might be a little too big around the waist, and slightly too short in the legs. He’s proved right once he gets them up Sam’s legs, sitting them at his waist. Luckily the bottoms have a drawstring around the waist and he’s able to secure them with a tug and a knot.

The socks follow and even though the pyjama pants only reach Sammy’s ankles, the kid doesn’t care as he steps out of the bathroom and displays his ‘jammies’ to Cas. Cas beams and lifts Sam back up onto the bed before settling himself back where he rose from and wriggles Sam’s toes. 

Dean lowers the right side safety rail and seats himself on the bed behind Sam. His kid leans back against him the moment he’s settled, shifting around to get comfortable. A large yawn he doesn’t bother to cover escapes the boy.

“Well someone looks like a very sleepy boy,” Cas notes, standing to remove his coat before lowering the safety rail on his side so he can bring his legs up onto the bed once he sits back down.

“‘M’not. Had lots sleep already,” Sam grumbles, sticking his fingers in his mouth and suckling on them.

Dean wants to pull them away and replace them with the borrowed pacifier, but the kid still won’t accept the thing when he’s awake.

Sam tilts his head to the side, staring at Cas’ shirt pocket curiously. “Wassat?” he points a wet finger.

“This?” Cas pats his pocket.

“Uh-huh,” Sammy mutters before gasping as what looks to be the head of a small and soft dinosaur pokes its head up out of Cas’ shirt pocket. Sam looks to Dean, eyes questioning if he saw it.

Dean smiles, and leans down, asking quietly, “What is it, Sammy?”

Sam points and Dean watches as the toy pokes its head up again, Cas’ hidden fingers moving it.

“Whoa,” Dean breathes slowly, turning wide eyes back to Sammy. “Awesome.”

Sam bursts into giggles.

Dean and Cas both laugh at his genuine joy, Cas pulling the toy from his pocket and holding it out to Sam. The boy readily takes it, stroking a finger over the back of the brown and cream soft toy plush fashioned in the form of a baby Apatosaurus. 

“Littlefoot,” Sam smiles, naming one of his favourite characters from _The Land Before Time_ movies he had talked Cas into watching with him those two weeks he had been grounded. 

Though if Dean remembers correctly, it hadn’t taken much persuading to get Cas to watch. By the time the first movie ended he was just as hooked as Sammy. Something the two can share, because Dean has never been taken with the movies, especially for what happens in the beginning of the first. He had watched for Sammy’s sake only. And the only reason Dean even knows the type of sauropod the character is, is because his little geek-boy would correct it every time the character was referred to as a brontosaurus or a brachiosaurus. It got annoying after the hundredth time.

“I thought he held a resemblance,” Cas notes, smiling.

“Oh, he does,” Sammy nods. “Thank you, Cas,” Sam leans forwards, wrapping his good arm around Cas while keeping his casted arm close to his chest.

“You are very welcome, Monkey,” Cas responds, returning the hug, eyes locking on Dean, questioning whether his use of the moniker is agreeable.

Dean nods, the smile on Sammy’s face shy and pleased as he snuggles back against him.

“I gots a Littlefoot, De,” Sammy whispers.

Dean drops a kiss onto his head, rubbing his back, hard-pressed to keep the emotion at bay at the happiness wrapped up in that simple statement. Because true to form, the kid never made mention of how much he wanted a Littlefoot toy as a youngster. But Dean had known. And as much as he had wished for Sammy to have such a simple toy, any toys they didn’t already have fell last on the list of expenses when some days they could barely afford to pay for food.  

And Cas probably isn’t even aware just how happy he’s made their little guy.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean’s eyes snap open at the sound of the soft knock on the door, glancing down at the boy on his chest to see him sleeping peacefully. Looking to his watch, he notes that only a half hour has passed since he was up with Sammy while the kid pooped for the first time since his surgery.

He looks to the door as it is opened only partially, preventing the light of the corridor from entering the low-lit room too much.

“Dean?” Rae whispers. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispers back, carefully sliding himself out from beneath Sammy and laying him down on the pillow instead. The kid shifts, fingers twitching around his Littlefoot, but he doesn’t wake.

“Dean?” Cas whispers groggily, sitting up slightly from his less than comfortable position on the bed.

“Rae wants to talk to me,” Dean responds just as quietly. “Stay with Sammy.”

Cas nods, swiping at his eyes and sitting up fully to stretch the kink out of his back, deciding half-sitting up is not the best way to sleep.

“Hey,” Dean says when he steps out into the corridor, pulling the door too behind him. He scrubs his hands over his face to wake himself up a little. “Everything okay?”

Rae nods. “I just know that since Sam has had a successful bowel movement, you’ll probably want to get out of here as soon as possible.” She holds out several sheets of paper to him, the sheets stapled together in one corner. “Sam’s discharge papers. But you’re more than welcome to stay here until the morning, Dean, if that’s what you want to do. I’m still waiting on the DEXA results, but as soon as I get them I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Rae. For everything.”

“It’s my job. And you know I’ll do anything for you boys. Especially the cute baby-faced one.”

Dean chuckles tiredly, drawing her into a hug. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he whispers against her ear.

“Me too,” she replies just as quietly, knowing he isn’t apologising for threatening Lij’s life, but if he upset her. “I’ll keep him in line. I promise. And Dean,” she draws away, though still remaining in the circle of his arms, so she can look in eyes that are tired but much softer than earlier. “Cas seems like a good guy. The little I spoke to him, it sounds like he really cares about you and Sam.” She leans up and kisses his cheek before stepping back out of his arms. “Anything you need, don’t hesitate to call. Oh, and if you’re near my folks on Thursday you should swing by for dinner.”

“What’s Thursday?” Dean questions confused.

“Thanksgiving.”

“That’s this week?” Dean questions, surprised. He hadn't thought it was that late in November already. But Rae nods. “Huh.” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “As much as I appreciate the invite, Rae, we got a situation we need to take care of pretty a-sap.”

“I get that. Hopefully when I do see you boys again, it won’t be in my clinic. Bye, Dean.”

“See ya, Rae.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Rae watches the taillights of the Impala disappear from her view and into the darkness, the beauty of her large office residing on the top floor allowing her views of both the courtyard and the parking lot. She sighs, crossing to her desk and taking a seat behind it. She brings up Sam’s X-ray, zooming into the image for what feels like the thousandth time.

“That little boy might as well be the Aurora Borealis, Rae,” Stefan says, entering her office without knocking, which is about usual for the witch.

Rae sighs gravely at the news. “So there’ll be no hiding him then.”

“Nope. I doubt even the twins have the power to cover him up. Is that what I think it is?” Stefan questions, handing over the second coffee in his hold to her before resting back against the dresser behind them both.

“Unfortunately,” she responds, setting the coffee down on her desk coaster. “What did you see with Sam?”

“Honestly? Nothing. Save for the blinding light of his aura. When I found them out on the street, it wasn't until Dean grabbed my hand that I even knew he was there as well. And that aura… wow, if I didn't know any better I'd say at least some of it is infused with grace.”

“It very well could be. The boy was inhabited by two angels,” she continues at Stefan's raised eyebrow. “One of whom was an archangel. It leaves traces.” She taps several keys on her keyboard so the X-ray appears in the central plasma in a wall of many.

“But traces can be re… holy shit,” Stefan gasps, rising as the single image becomes several hundred, all revealing the same thing on different areas of a skeletal structure.          

“Holy shit is about right,” Rae replies quietly, nervously biting at her bottom lip, because the last thing she had ever expected to find when she walked into work today was the Mark of Cain seared into every last one of Sam Winchester’s bones.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clinic visit was not supposed to take up the entirety of chapter 16. The boys were supposed to go, get Sam fixed up, and get on with the rest of the story, but well… the muse, guys … See y'all in the comments if that wasn't too much boredom for ya :)


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all you awesome and lovely people! Sorry, once again, for the long wait. This one kicked me in the ass for reasons unknown. I've rewritten it a dozen times and if I said I was happy with it, I'd be completely lying outta my ass! 
> 
> Anyway, ignore me and enjoy if its enjoyable :)

“Leave it alone,” Dean’s gruff voice instructs for the umpteenth time, leaning over to shove a couple of their bags to the back of the trunk.

Sam frowns beneath the streetlights of the Redfern Grove Motel parking lot. Since when does his brother have eyes in his butt cheeks to go with the ones in the back of his head? Because surely that’s the only way Dean could’ve known Sam’s pulling at the irritating fabric wrapped around his neck.

The dark blue scarf one of his brand new ‘accessories’. Cas had pulled it out of one of the bags he had brought to the hospital, along with a thick earflap hat Sam refused to wear. Only after being told in no uncertain terms that he would not be leaving Grey Willow Medical Clinic until the items resided on his person did he concede to Cas’ demand; his brother just sitting back, watching in amusement and not making one move to help Sam out.

Not even when Cas tied the tassels together under Sam’s chin with some kind of super-duper-only-known-to-former-angel-knot. And Sam knows that because he’s tried to undo the damn thing several times and it won’t budge.

Of course, the orange cast encasing his thumb, hand and arm up to his elbow is not helping the coordination of his fingers. Nor the gloves, one of which is stretched to cover the hand portion of the cast.

“It’s itchy,” Sam complains, continuing to tug at the scarf.

He lets out a silent cheer when it unravels into two lopsided strips hanging either side of his neck. A cheer that dwindles rapidly as he realises Dean has straightened up and turned around to head back into the motel room, the expression on his face one of exasperated displeasure.

“I don’t like it,” Sam pouts, hoping his brother will relent on his having to wear it.

“You don’t have to like it, Sam,” Dean replies grasping hold of the two ends and straightening them out. “It’s there to keep you warm,” he adds, wrapping the scarf back around Sam’s neck. “Now leave it alone,” Dean repeats more firmly this time, stepping around Sam, a yelp leaving Sam’s mouth when his brother’s hand connects with his bottom on the way passed.

And damn if that doesn't remind him he's still got a spanking to face sometime today for his behaviour yesterday.

And as his brother exits their room once again, Sam attaches his lips to the straw of his tumbler, sipping at his juice to prevent himself grumbling something he shouldn’t within earshot of the man. He refrains from offering assistance to his brother as he has already tried that. All it got him was his juice thrust at him with an instruction to drink it down.

“Gonna need go potty ‘fore we get anywhere,” Sam grumbles around his straw.

“Then we’ll stop,” Dean says, dumping the last of their bags into the trunk, his gaze directed towards the office with a frown.

“You hate stopping.”

“No, what I hate is my little brother being dehydrated. So, you drink. And we’ll make the necessary stops. What the hell’s taking Cas so long?”

“He’s only been a couple minutes, Dean,” Sam admonishes lightly, turning his own gaze towards the office. It is just past midnight, the office is quiet and low-lit and Sam is unable to make out a Cas shaped presence through the windows, but nothing seems out of the ordinary.

“Well go see what’s keeping him so freaking long,” Dean instructs as he locks the trunk.

“All by myself? But there’s _lots and lots_ of dangerous space between the office and you,” Sam points out teasingly, while studiously ignoring the little boy inside of him asking why big brother isn’t going to hold his hand to cross the parking lot.

Because that’s always been the rule, right? Even if the office is only twenty feet away, it’s still a parking lot. He’s meant to hold Dean’s hand.

#

Dean startles in surprise at his brother’s words; realising his own stupidity in asking Sammy to go to the office. A force of habit after ten years on the road together. Before the spell heightened his emotions; causing his heart to clench painfully and his gut to twist in knots whenever Sammy is out of his sight.

Only now further intensified thanks to Crowley’s actions.

Anything could happen in the separation of twenty feet. Sammy hadn’t been much farther away than that from Dean when the kid was taken right out of that diner. A kidnapping that had ended with … No. Dean swallows back those memories, he cannot deal with those surfacing right now. Not with everything else they have going on. It’s just too damn much.

“You’re right, Sammy,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat to loosen the tightness. “C’mon.”

Dean grasps hold of his kid’s right wrist. He doesn’t care if Sam has a problem with it. Dean would just rather know that Sammy is right there, the better to ensure his kid’s safety. So, when Sammy starts wriggling and pulling his wrist, Dean opens his mouth to deliver a reprimand. Only to snap it closed a second later in surprise when a sharp pull upwards slides Sam’s wrist free of his hold and the large hand slips into his instead.

He remains silent, just gives the hand a quick squeeze, while glancing out of the corner of his eyes at Sammy as they head towards the office. The boy is slightly bent forwards, happily chugging away at the juice in the straw sippy-cup held in the crook of Sammy’s arm. As if the two of them holding hands is the everyday norm for them, when it hasn’t been in over a decade.

Longer?

Dean has to wrack his brain as to when the rule regarding the holding of hands in the street or a parking lot changed, and then stopped altogether.

Was Sammy ten? Twelve? Hell, fifteen?

Dean honestly can’t remember.

He is aware it was probably more than unusual to be a teenager okay with little brother holding his hand. But Dean as always hadn’t cared about the ‘norms’, only the safety of his kid. And Sam had been plenty tiny he passed for a much younger child anyway.

How many times had Dean reiterated the kid had to hold his hand while crossing a street or parking lot until it stuck? Or the amount of times Dean had stepped out into the street first. Or walked the side of the sidewalk closet to the street. Hell, he’s pretty sure he still unconsciously does that now, the behaviour an ingrained habit.

But the hand holding _had_ stopped at some point.

Reaching the office, and with his hand still clasped in Dean’s, Sammy jumps up the three steps one at a time. He’s far too awake now for this time of night when he should have been in bed two hours prior. And Dean knows they are going to have problems maintaining a strict bedtime for Sammy in the coming weeks.

He sighs. And lets Sam push open the motel office door as the kid reaches it first, the bell ringing overhead as Sam bounces his way over the threshold. Dean rolls his eyes, too tired for an energetic Sammy, but knowing he’ll deal with it anyway.

“Cas, c’mon, hurry up, Dean’s getting …”

Dean frowns when Sam trails off and freezes just inside the door. Dean wastes no time pulling his gun. He pushes Sammy forward and then back so he can step inside, surprised to see Cas slamming the motel manager’s face into the doorframe of the partially open door behind the tall desk.  

#

Frozen and wide-eyed, Sam watches as blood sprays off to the side as the guy’s nose breaks with a crunch of sinew on impact with the doorframe. It’s the same guy Sam had asked if Redfern Grove had a library. The creepy guy who wouldn’t stop staring at him.

Sam barely registers being moved aside by his brother, too shocked by witnessing Cas’ temper. He has seen Castiel angry before – he has been at the end of that anger before – but the former angel is downright furious.

Maybe even more so than he had been with Crowley.

And _that_ really scares Sam.

But when Cas wraps his hands around Creepy Guy’s neck and squeezes, it awakens Sam from his daze. He jumps forward, pushing through the swing-gate even as Dean throws himself over the tall desk.

#

Dean launches himself over the desk and charges towards Cas. He wraps his arms around Cas from behind and starts pulling the other man away. It’s difficult. Cas is just as strong as Dean and clearly doesn’t want to be pulled away from the guy he’s trying to strangle to death.

Even when Sam puts his weight behind pulling Cas away, the former-angel is like an immovable statue, the rage pouring off him practically planting him to the floor.

Dean lets out a growl. “Move away!” he barks at Sam, the kid immediately releasing his hold to do as told.

It allows Dean better access to curl an arm around Cas’ neck and squeeze in just the right spot. He yells at Cas to stop until Cas has no choice but to release his hold on the motel manager or risk passing out himself. The guy hits the deck, coughing and gasping for air.

Sam crouches down beside the manager, asking if he’s okay. Which he immediately knows is a stupid question. The guy’s nose is undoubtedly broken. It is definitely split across the bridge and Sam has no doubts the guy will be sporting two swollen black eyes within a day. Though it could have been worse; Cas could have used his full strength. A strength that would have caved the manager’s face in and achieved the goal Cas still seems just as intent upon, even now he has been pulled away.

“Cas! What the fuck, man?” Dean barks, furious, his grip never loosening its hold upon the struggling former-angel as he drags Cas further away, his partner’s bloodied fists outstretched and still wanting to implant some serious damage.

“Fucked up twisted fuck!” Cas snarls in too good an imitation of Dean, and so very unlike his partner unless provoked.

And what the fuck could this guy have done in the space of a few minutes to have triggered Cas into such a rage? Because it takes a whole heap of shit to provoke Cas to this level of violence. Hell, Dean should know. He’s been on the receiving end more than once.

But this? In front of their little boy who has already been through enough of an ordeal?  

“Cas! You’re scaring Sam!”

Cas stills, the words seeping in and pulling him from the red haze of rage just as Dean had been hoping. Cas turns wide eyes to Dean. “Sam …” 

“Right here, Cas. I’m okay,” Sam reassures, ignoring the truth of Dean’s words as he helps the motel manager hold several paper towels under his bloody nose.

Cas turns his gaze to Sam and Sam is startled as the man’s eyes narrow, the anger returning as he breaks free of Dean’s grasp. “Get away from him!”

Sam yelps in surprise as he is sharply lifted off his feet, pulled away from the motel manager. And then Cas’ hold is gone and Sam has to steady himself against the wall, watching with wide-eyed anxiousness as Dean slams Cas down, chest first, against the desk, an arm on the former-angel’s back holding him in place.

“ _Calm_. _Down_ ,” Dean hisses against Cas’ ear. Cas bucks against Dean’s hold, but Dean slams him down again and Cas stills, letting out a groan, the red haze dissipating. “You with me?”

Cas blinks rapidly, apologetic eyes finding Sam, before he closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good.” Dean drags Cas upright, steadying him. “Now tell us what the hell is going on here.”

“Do not go to him!” Cas’ voice is still sharp, but controlled.

It stills Sam from moving further towards the motel manager, who is all but crawling his way into the backroom. “Tell me why I shouldn’t, Cas?!” Sam snaps, fed up. “Especially when you could’ve given him internal injuries?!”

“The piece of filth doesn’t deserve your care!” Cas snaps back.

“ _Why_ , Cas?” Dean asks calmly, or as calmly as he can manage right now. “What’s he supposed to have done to cause you to be so damn reckless?”

Cas’ blue eyes hold an anguish amidst the still simmering anger that Sam doesn’t understand. “Sam, remain here,” Cas says, gesturing Dean through to the backroom.

“Err, what? No,” Sam splutters, indignant, at the same time Dean objects, “Sam’s not staying out here by himself.”

“Sam doesn’t _need_ to stay here,” Sam objects for himself.

“This is _not_ for Sam’s eyes,” Cas states firmly.

“He’s _not_ staying out here alone!”

“Very well,” Cas snaps, more a growl than anything else. “I’ll remain with Sam.”

“Not sure I’m comfortable with that idea right now either,” Dean retorts.

Cas shakes his head, before he turns his back to Sam, leaning forward to whisper against Dean’s ear.

Sam can only watch as the quiet tension within Dean coils ever tighter; a threatened snake seconds away from striking. Worsened as the confusion in green eyes seeps away to be replaced by cold fury. It leaves Sam fearing for the manager’s life when Dean abruptly turns towards the backroom, the manager scrambling backwards in the face of that anger.

Sam moves to follow his furious brother and stop him from doing something stupid. Cas, however, catches him around the waist and spins him away from the backroom. Steel arms are gentle in their hold, but immovable as Sam finds to his chagrin when trying to squirm out of them.

He stills at the ominous sound of the backroom door snapping closed; trapping the motel manager inside with the ball of ferocity known as Dean Winchester, who could easily go off with one single wrong move.

“Cas, we need to go in there! Dean …”

“No.” Cas releases Sam enough to grasp his arm and frog-march him back through the double swing-gate into the visitor portion of the office. “We are staying here.”

“Cas …” Sam immediately protests when his butt hits one of the wooden chairs standing against a wall.

“We are staying here, Sam,” Cas reiterates.

“Dean looks like he wants to rip the guy’s head off! The same look you shared not too long ago, Cas!” When Cas doesn’t contradict him, Sam shakes his head. “That’s real reassuring, Cas,” he retorts sarcastically.

#

Sam gnaws on his thumb worriedly. Legs nervously bouncing up and down. While plans fly through his head (just as quickly discarded) as to how they are going to explain this one if Dean cannot control his temper.

Sam cannot lose his brother. As selfish as that may be, he has journeyed that path before and it never turned out well for anyone. And he can feel inside of him that Cas has been added to that list, perhaps not to the degree of Dean, but Sam just knows he cannot lose the former-angel either.

He’s pissed at Cas for going off on the motel manager, for placing them in this position. Equally pissed at Dean for shutting him out. All because Cas doesn’t want Sam to see what is inside that backroom. And why not? He has seen and experienced a damn sight more in his life than a guy with a bloody nose.  

And whatever it is inside of that room could see Dean commit murder, taking him away from Sam if he were ever caught.

Shaking his head, Sam rises.

“Sam,” Cas warns.

Sam rolls his eyes, crossing to the office entrance. Glancing outside into the streetlight-lit parking lot, the Impala remains the only car residing there. Seeing nothing untoward, Sam twists the lock on the door anyway and pulls down the blind. Rounding the desk, shooting a glare at Cas when he receives another warning, Sam finds the switch for the vacancy sign and switches it over to ‘no vacancy’.  

It wouldn’t do for anyone to roll into the motel, tired from a long journey and looking for a room, only to walk into… whatever this situation is. He honestly cannot think of a good enough reason as to why Cas would be so angry with Creepy Guy. Other than perhaps doing something to Dean.

In which case, Sam would have something to say about it too.

But Creepy Guy, while creepy in the way he had stared at Sam yesterday morning, had seemed nice enough. He had even offered to let Sam browse his own books and reading material in the back room Creepy Guy now resides injured with Dean.

Speaking of which… Sam spins on his heels, his destination the backroom. Only he’s once again grabbed around the waist and easily taken off his feet.

“Dammit, Cas!” Sam curses as he’s deposited back on the wooden chair the other side of the tall desk.

“I said you’re not going in there, Sam,” Cas states firmly, using his body to block the swing gate entrance leading behind the desk.

Sam rises back to his feet, squaring his shoulders and utilising his height advantage to loom over Cas. “Well bully for you. You even know this guy’s human? What if he’s something else and could get the drop on Dean? What if he’s got a gun hidden back there? You even think about that when you were kicking the crap out of him, huh?”

“We’re going to the car,” Cas states instead of answering Sam’s questions, grasping Sam’s arm, and tries pulling him towards the office entrance.

This time, however, Sam yanks his arm away. “Not happening.”

“Sam, I _will_ carry you out of here if I have to.”

“Cas, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not leaving Dean. So, carry me to the car if you like, but I’ll fight you every damn step of the way.”

“You are a stubborn child, Samuel Winchester.”

#

Twenty minutes’ pass before Dean steps out of the backroom into the main office, slamming the door behind him, causing Sam and Cas to jump out of their staring contest. Dean raises an eyebrow at the sight of Sammy using his full height to his advantage to tower over Cas, arms crossed over his chest.

The kid’s pursed-lipped bitch-face shifts to Dean, who shakes his head and shoots his own glare at Cas. He had hoped at the least that his partner would have taken Sam back to the car. However, with what he had witnessed between the two he knows the pairs presence still in the office is not just down to the former-angel.    

Sam is pretty immovable himself when he wants to be.

“You kill him?” the kid questions.

“No,” Dean responds. “Though he’ll be wishing I had. Now, c’mon. Let’s get outta here."

“Uh-uh. No. Tell me what the hell this was all about first?” Sam snaps, clearly having received no information from Cas.

“Not here.”

“But …”

“Sam,” Dean points at the exit. “We’re leaving. _Now_.”

“Fine,” Sam’s shoulders slump. He crosses to the office entrance and twists the lock back open. He turns around in the open doorway to face Dean and Cas. “We need to call an ambulance.”

“We will, Sammy. When we’re not on the doorstep. Now get moving,” Dean pops his brother on the butt to get him out the door.

Sam jumps down the steps, shooting a glare over his shoulder at his brother. Dean slowly arcs an eyebrow and for now it is enough to quell Sam’s rising ire.

 

**#SPN#**

 

Dean sighs, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as he speeds them away from Redfern Grove. Cas has been silent since they left, his body tense and his face turned towards the passenger window. The only thing stopping either of them from turning right back around and putting bullets in skulls being the kid taking up the entirety of the backseat, safe and physically sound.

“So? What happened?” Said kid questions, his legs sprawled across the bench-seat of the Impala’s backseat, his upper body resting back against the locked door and his tablet sitting on his lap.

_Dammit_. Dean would prefer to sit through an entire weekend of chick-flick movies than have this conversation with his kid. Especially if it results in Sammy knowing what happened in Redfern Grove. He’s hoping Sammy can retain that innocence for a long time to come yet.

Which means, Dean just needs to figure out what to tell the kid that will not raise too much suspicion in his inquisitive baby brother’s mind. Preferably, anything but the whole truth …

_With the motel manager good and scared, cowering on the floor, Dean takes in the backroom. It is only small in width, but long enough for a cot in a corner and against the wall on Dean’s right. The opposite wall holds a long desk with four computer monitors – modern flat-screens so unlike the old-fashioned and clunky television set they’d had in their motel room. Two large external hard drives sit on one side of the desk and Dean doesn’t need to be a genius to know they hold an extensive storage capacity._

_There are several photographs on the wall. Dean’s eyes narrow as he takes in one of them. He tears it from the wall. “This you?” he demands, shoving the photo in front of the manager’s face._

_The guy nods, wincing in pain._

_Dean ignores it as his gut twists. The face of the man in the picture matches that of the nosy-fucker from the first Redfern Grove Motel they had stayed in. The guy staring out the window of the room next to theirs when they arrived._

_“You planned this. You and your bitch Gretchen.”_

_A glare twists the manager’s bruised and bloodied face, the first ounce of courage he’s shown. “Leave her …” the guy coughs, “… out this.”_

_Stepping over to the desk, Dean gives the mouse a nudge, the monitors flaring to life and revealing what should never have been seen on any fucking screens. Cas had told him. Dean had been furious then, but this… seeing it now in full gory detail, his little boy’s intimate privacy so violated … Dean spins away, his fist connecting with the manager’s face._

_“Still think I should leave her outta this, you sick fuck?!”_

_The guy scrambles backwards with a whimper, or tries to as he has nowhere else to go. “Please. Please. I haven’t done any-anything. Never touched. Never.”_

_“You just like perving on kid’s then, huh?”_

_“No! No, it’s all her!”_

_“Shut up!” Dean’s fist sails downwards again, fully understanding Cas’ explosive anger._

_The solid punch knocks the manager unconscious, the guy lucky Dean restrained his true strength. Grabbing the desk chair, Dean slams himself into it and hits the mouse, minimising the windows showing his little boy. Leaning forward to see if a scanner works, Dean spies another photograph on the wall._

_One showing the manager standing outside his place of business with the motel sign visible for all to see. It will definitely suit Dean’s purpose just fine. He stands, ripping this one off the wall as well, his lips curling upward into a ferocious smirk as he snaps the photo down on the scanner, shutting the lid and hitting scan._

_How much Gretchen is involved will have to be decided, but Dean has no intention of letting her off scot free. They will be paying a little visit to her on the way out of town that’s for sure._

_“Huh, look how considerate you’re being towards your own fate,” Dean murmurs, snatching up a plaque revealing the name ‘Richard White’ engraved upon it._

_Sitting himself back behind the desk, Dean employs a few tricks he learnt from Frank Devereaux. Running several backdoor quick and easy searches, he obliterates any security and protection White has hiding his IP addresses and VPN’s. Then sends out a vicious virus that will eradicate all and everything that White has ever uploaded to the internet within ten minutes._

_It’s the fastest route and he has to chance that everything will be hit. He doesn’t have the time to search the whole damn internet. Nor does he want to find out that the footage of Sam has already been uploaded. Dean’s anger is only hanging on by a thin thread. If he were to find that out for definite, then Dean would commit the murder he stopped Cas from committing earlier._

_After a quick scan of White’s computer, Dean wishes he could eradicate the images from his brain when he’s done. Richard White is a lying fucker on top of being a sick fucker. Dean doesn’t consider raping and molesting teenage boys and young men as ‘ never touched. Never’._

_He pulls up every social media site, police department website and anything else he can think of that he can access. He feels no remorse in sending out the photograph of the sadistic pedophile named Richard White. And he definitely falls into the pedophile category. Despite Sammy’s size and features, all White saw was that Sam is undoubtedly the sick fuck’s… type._

_Dean may have no intention of killing White, no matter how furious he is, but he definitely intends to destroy the guy’s life. He swings an arm around, and without looking away from the monitors, points his gun directly at White’s forehead._

_“Stay. Down.”_

_“You-you gonna kill m-me?” White rushes out, nasally and coughing, as he slumps down again, the end of the baseball bat he loosely holds in his hands hitting the deck._  

_Dean rises, gun still trained on White. “I’m not gonna kill ya.” White whimpers as Dean lowers the barrel of the gun to more sensitive parts, a blazing green-fire in the hunter’s eyes. “You’re just gonna wish you were dead when I’m done with ya.”_

_“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was your boy. I swear, I never woulda …”_

_Dean grabs the front of White’s shirt in his fist, setting his gun between White’s wide eyes. “He’s my KID, you sick fuck. And nobody,” Dean’s voice becomes deeper and darker, “nobody messes with him. They don’t touch him. They don’t hurt him. And they sure as fuck don’t get to look at him in his most vulnerable moments.” _

_Dean snatches the bat out of White’s hold and stands, testing the weight in his hands. Satisfied it will do the job, he swings it around and smashes it down, scattering broken pieces of technology over the desk and floor, ignoring the whimpering from behind him._

_Three minutes later, Dean drops the bat to the floor, the screens and anything remotely looking to hold footage now unusable and unrecognisable as what they were._

_“You’ve r-ruined everything… K-kill me …” White chokes out._

_“Nah. That’s not how letting you live works. You fucked with the wrong kid. You fucked with my kid. I think it only fair that you’re here to savour the destruction of your life.” Grabbing the front of White’s shirt again, Dean yanks him forward, whispering words that will see White live in fear for the rest of his damned life …_

“Well?”

Sam’s demand brings Dean back to the present. The kid not one to normally wait patiently for answers. Even though out of the two of them, Sammy is the one with the most patience. Dean only has a wealth of true patience when it comes to his kid. And he has to give Sammy his dues for holding off on the interrogation for this long.

“The guy was an asshole, Sammy. That’s all you need to know.”

Sam definitely doesn’t need to know that their little pitstop to Gretchen White’s motel revealed a wife not only aware of her husband’s ‘activities’ (the proof in the pudding, or in this case the half-dozen photo albums of victims Dean had found when trashing her own backroom), she’s a wife fully complicit in her husband’s depravity.

“Yeah, ‘cause Cas just randomly kicks the crap outta people for being assholes every day of the week, right?” Sam looks at the back of their heads, the tense shoulders of his family. “So, what did Creepy Guy do, Cas? Did he do something to Dean? Threaten him?”

Cas stops staring out the window to glance over his shoulder at Sam, confused, “What would make you say that, Sam?

“Err, you going all caveman for one thing.”

“Let it go, Sam,” Dean says, a warning in his tone.

Sam sighs in aggravation. For as much as he wants to know what happened, he knows that tone. Dean is not going to tell him, no matter how much he pushes his brother to do just that. And Sam has no doubts that Cas will remain just as tight-lipped. So, fine, he’ll let it go, but …

“What if I don't wanna sing your favourite song right now, Dean?”

Dean breaths a slow sigh of relief at the lightened tone, his kid giving in, for which Dean will forever be thankful. Sammy never needs to know the Whites’ were perving on him. Now it’s Dean’s turn to continue to lighten the mood. “You’re the one who loves that piece of chick-flick crap, Princess, not me.”

“It’s okay to admit it, Dean. We both know you have the hots for Elsa.”

“Too many sharp edges with that one.”

“Do I even want to know what the two of you are talking about now?” Cas queries, his expression lost.

“Frozen,” Sam and Dean chorus.

“Frozen what?”

“Icicles, man,” Dean responds while Sam snickers in the back.

“I think I am now versed enough in Winchester to say I will never fully understand you two.”

“You love us,” Sam grins, scooping up his Littlefoot from his tablet stand, tucking the small soft toy into his jacket pocket for safekeeping. “Candy, please,” he requests, scrubbing at an eye.

Dean glances in the rear-view mirror, his hands finally loosening their grip on the wheel. Kid should be asleep. But Dean gets it. Sammy has been sleeping for practically half a day, and after what just happened, yeah, he’s letting Sammy stay up. And eat candy. With a limit. He doesn’t need to be dealing with a kid on a sugar-high along with everything else.

“One more only, Sammy,” Dean says.

Cas - who now has the bags of candy because every time Sammy tried opening his candy it ended up on the seat or the floor before he got it in his mouth - shifts around so he is sitting sideways in the passenger seat. He removes the wrapping on a chew candy and holds it out to Sam, who leans forward and accepts it into his mouth.

"You said two more, right, Dean?” Sam questions between chews.

“Sam.”

“What? I distinctly heard you say two. Cas, Dean said two, right?”

“Little one, you know you heard your brother say ‘one only’. And you are lucky to have any candy at all, considering the time.”

“Any time of day is good for candy time, Cas. Everybody knows that.”

“Yes, precisely. Any time of _day_.”

“You walked into that one, Sammy,” Dean smiles lightly as he glances in the rear-view mirror at his pouting kid.

“Gabriel was in Cas’ dream.”

Dean arcs an eyebrow at his partner at this new information.

Cas shoots a semi-stern look at Sam, who shrugs unapologetically for raising the topic. It is not a secret. Cas had inadvertently spilled that small detail to his little one while they waited in the car for Dean to return from his ‘visit’ with Gretchen. Both Cas and Sam having been more or less ordered to remain in the car. Cas had been fine with it, of course, for it kept Sam away. And he was also unsure if he would have been able to hold his temper with that vulture Gretchen if he saw her face again.  

“You’re dreaming about Gabriel? _Trickster_ Gabriel? That’s the missing piece from your dream yesterday?”

Cas is not surprised Dean had known he had left out details yesterday when explaining the dream of that vortex and their child. The man is more observant then he likes known. “He showed up in the dream and gave me a moment of peace from having to watch our imaginary child die.”

“Whoa, you didn’t mention _that_ _part_ , Cas,” Sam says quietly from the back.

“Cas, I don’t mean to be a voice of reason here, but Gabriel’s dead.”

“He is. But Gabriel is an archangel. An archangel never truly dies. At least their essence does not. And Gabriel’s essence is building in Heaven …”

“God is regenerating Gabriel? I thought God was still M.I.A.”

“He is. Except He sent Gabriel to Heaven after his death to perform a job.”

“In Heaven?” Sam and Dean chorus.

Cas smiles lightly. “That is what I said too. Gabriel replied that his job was, and I quote, ‘Heaven. Time. Reality’.”

“Yeah, cause that makes sense. What did he want with you, Cas?”

“To give me a message. For all of us. ‘ _Knowledge seek to answers gain. Seek the Grey. Gain the Key_ ’. Does that mean anything to either of you?”

“Never heard it before. Sammy?”

“No,” Sam responds, swiping at an eye again, “it doesn’t ring a bell. I’ll add it to the list of research.” Tapping in his tablet code, he opens his notes and adds the message to his growing list, with a side note of ‘ _Gabriel. Heaven. Time. Reality_. _God?_ ’

Dean sighs. That list of research seems to be growing ever longer by the day without yielding any answers. Save for the Venator. Mystical wolves seeming to be the easiest thing they have had to research lately.

“Why don’t you put the tablet down, Sammy, and try get some sleep.”

Sam stares down at the list in front of him. “I’d say okay if there wasn’t so much to look into.”

“I apologise for adding to it.”

“Nah, it’s okay, Cas. I don’t think Gabriel would’ve come to you with a message for all of us if it wasn’t important. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

“And this time, Sammy, if you need to go to a library, better course of action is to just ask,” Dean pointedly states.

Sam feels his face heat slightly at the dig towards his earlier actions. “Will do. Now that we’re passed that …”

“ _Sam.”_

“What?”

“Don’t give me that innocent routine, kid. You still got a butt whooping coming to ya.”

“Was worth a shot,” Sam mumbles, shifting on the seat and taking a moment to savour how nice it is not to be sitting on a sore bottom. He sighs. “You know, I’m kinda thinking hitting libraries isn’t gonna help anyway. At least not public libraries. Maybe rare book stores that hold occult books …”

“These stores would hold something the bunker archive does not?” Cas questions.

“I know it’s unlikely. But the bunker collection is sixty years old. Anything up to date is what we’ve added to it in the past few years. Several books and manuscripts in Uncle Bobby’s collection, while old and rare, weren’t already part of the bunker archive. So as much as it’s a supernatural motherload, it doesn’t hold everything. And right now… we kinda need that everything.”

“We’ll figure it out, Sammy.”  

“And if Rowena doesn’t know anything? The spell I used to cure you predates her. What if she knows nothing about it?”

“Then we’ll figure something else out,” Dean states. Sam sighs. Dean looks at his partner beside him. “You’re definitely sure it was Gabriel?”

“Without a doubt.” Cas confirms. “I thought we were going to Seattle?” he questions when they reach a turn and Dean directs the Impala the opposite way than the signpost for Seattle.

“We’re heading for the Jeffries’,” Dean responds, having figured earlier it would be easier to head straight for the Jeffries’ place in the small community of Yrautcnas, bordering the Olympia National Forest.

At least that way they might be able to get a few hours shut eye in a bed instead of the car, waiting for a tattoo parlour to open. Plus …

“Ooohhh, Jeffries’ library,” Sammy chimes in. “They do have a library, I’m remembering that right, right? Right right. Hehehe,” giggles erupt from the back seat.

Dean snorts, sharing an amused look with Cas. “Put that candy away,” he mouths to his partner, knowing that somehow Sam will wrangle another piece (or several) out of them if they don’t store it.

And the kid has definitely had enough.

Cas leans forward, stuffing the two bags in the glove compartment.

“Candy go night-night?”

“Yep. It’s way past candy’s bedtime,” Dean replies, not sure if he can believe what he’s saying, even as he says it. Though Sammy seems to better recognise that there will be no more candy available to him tonight with those words, than Dean and Cas simply saying ‘no more’.

“Past Sammy’s bedtime too,” Sam surprisingly announces, and promptly yawns widely. “But I no go night-night.”

“You will be soon, buddy.”

“Nah-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“De-an,” Sam whines, tablet falling to the footwell with a soft thud when Sam slides down the door, his knees rising, “don’t be a big poo-poo-head.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Get your Sasquatch-sized boots off my window.”

“How’d you _know_?” Sammy asks, head suddenly appearing between Dean and Cas. “Do you really got eyes in the back of your head, De?” Sam’s fingers go to Dean’s hair, digging around and Dean winces as his hair is nearly pulled out by the root.

“Sam, please sit on your seat, on your bottom,” Cas tries to wrangle the kid, who easily evades and continues pulling and prodding at Dean's hair and head.

“You won’t find ‘em, Sammy. They hide themselves when kid’s come a-looking.”

“They do?”

Sammy’s voice is filled with intrigued surprise, but his inspection thankfully stops. Cas goes back to trying to get the kid on his butt and Dean really should pull over and help, but Sammy will only carry on until he falls asleep. And there’s no seatbelt back there to strap the kid down.

“Yep. Plus, I’ve got mirrors, remember.”

“Oh yeah.”

Dean has to slap Sam’s hand away from his rear-view mirror when the kid gives it a tug. Then Sammy lets out a squeal of surprise as he tumbles forward. He slides off the front seat and straight into the tape deck, his face squishing against it and long legs kicking up behind him as he scrabbles for purchase.

“Help me! Help me!”

Even as he grasps hold of Sam with one hand and hauls the kid back upright, Dean has to look away from Cas. His partner is clearly not impressed. While Dean is feeling hard-pressed not to laugh his ass off. And he knows he shouldn’t. After all, he is driving. And that stunt could have caused an accident. But, still, just like any kid, Sammy does stupid things sometimes.

“That was scary,” Sammy breathes, but there's a small grin on his lips.

“You’re alright, buddy,” Dean assures and ruffles his hair. “That arm okay?” Sam stares at his casted arm, before nodding vigorously. “Sometimes you gotta go with gentle,” Dean murmurs to Cas, shrugging as Cas’ glare intensifies.

“If we crash, he is going to end up going through the windshield. There are no seatbelts back there.”

“No seatbelts anywhere,” Sam sing-songs.

Cas sighs, still glaring at Dean. “Seatbelts.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sammy, park your ass back on your seat.”

“Okeydokey.”

Dean and Cas snap their heads around at the thump a second later. Sammy is lying face down on the bench-seat, legs bent up at the knees with half his body hanging in the footwell.

Dean shakes his head as he returns his eyes to the road. He does his best not to jump out of his skin half a minute later when Sammy pops his head back over the front seat. Sometimes he wishes he never taught the kid the art of stealth. Or that he never forgot to replace the damn seatbelts the last time he fixed up Baby.

“I gotsa go potty,” Sam announces.

Suppressing a groan, Dean glances at his watch and silently congratulates his baby brother’s tiny bladder for allowing them to get this far in their journey. Considering the kid downed a tumbler full of liquid. Even if it is only twenty minutes since they left Redfern Grove. And Dean had promised they’d make the needed stops. Neither he nor Cas want Sammy becoming dehydrated again.  

“Need potty,” Sam reminds, fingers patting the side of Dean’s face.

“I know,” Dean replies, searching out a place to stop, knowing from years of experience with the face Sam’s pulling that the kid won’t be able to hold it much longer.

Though a little more warning to the fact Sam needed the bathroom would have been nice. _Before_ they got to the point of busting.

Seeing no available places to take the kid, Dean knows the trees lining their route will have to do. And seeing a shoulder ahead with a good amount of tree coverage beyond the verge, Dean throws on the right blinker and pulls onto the shoulder, bringing the car to a stop.

“Cas, you need to go?”

“No. I’ll wait here.”

Dean nods, cutting the engine and climbing from the car, slipping his gun into his back waistband. Opening the back door, he gestures Sam out. The kid slides across the seat, before he stops and turns back to Cas.

“If you gets scared, Cassie, honk the horn, ‘kay.” 

Cas’ tense posture from events of only moments ago lessens at the words from his sweet child. “Thank you, little one. I’ll be sure to do that.”

Sam smiles sweetly, before pushing himself the rest of the way out of the car.

Clicking on the flashlight, Dean’s fingers circle Sam’s wrist and he leads his kid into the woods. They only stop when he can just about glimpse the Impala because he knows it is there. Far enough away from any traffic headlights being able to see them from the road.

Passing the flashlight to Sam, Dean quickly unfastens the tie of Sam’s pyjama pants, pushing them and the boxer-briefs down enough for Sam to do his business. Sammy, however, pushes his pants and underwear down further so they bunch around his knees.

Taking the flashlight back, Dean shrugs it off with a shake of his head as he gestures Sam towards the tree. Sam doesn’t make a move to step up to the tree, however, and instead glances around.

“Nobody can see you, kiddo,” Dean assures his self-conscious brother. “Just go.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Um, Dean… where’s the potty?”

Dean’s eyebrows rise in surprise. Then he points at the tree. “That’s as good as anything, Sammy.”

Sammy just stands there staring between him and the tree and then states, “That’s a tree,” like Dean isn’t already aware of that little detail.

“Yeah, Sammy. I see that. You want a different tree, ‘cause,” Dean gestures around at the number of other trees Sam can easily go against, “we’re not lacking in them here, kiddo.”

“No, I mean, _that’s a tree_ , Dean.”

“And once again I already know that fact, Sammy, what …?” Dean trails off, staring at his kid who is still looking between him and the tree in utter bewilderment. As if the very concept of using a tree as a bathroom is a foreign concept to him when he has done it countless times before.

And Dean would be beyond pissed and testing the kid up the wazoo for demonic possession and other shit right now, if he wasn’t already one-hundred percent confident the puppy-eyed man-child in front of him is definitely _his_ Sammy.

The kid has only left Dean's sight three times in the past twelve hours and that was to have his X-ray and DEXA scan done, and then at the motel. And the look Sammy is wearing is familiar, though Dean hasn’t seen it in a long time.

And he knows what it stems from; seeing the great John Winchester (who supposedly feared nothing) freak the fuck out and scream like a banshee because a spider jumped from the tree he was pissing against and onto his exposed dick.

In retrospect, it easily could have been a dangerous spider, but it had been funny, and their dad had even laughed once he'd zipped himself back up. That is, it had been funny right up until Dean had seen the fear in Sammy's eyes; the kid having run away from the tree (and the potty he’d been sitting on) like he'd been zapped by lightning.

And Sam being Sam, having not seen the spider, thought it was the tree that made John scream like that. And no matter how many times Dean tried to tell the kid otherwise, Sam was having none of it. At least until he got older. Then Sam hadn't had any problems pissing against trees when trees were the only available pit stop on the road.

Until now. 

And while Dean has been going with the flow regarding Sam’s regressive behaviour, it doesn’t mean this isn’t another thing being filed under his mental list titled ‘what the _fuck_ is going on?’.

Not for the first time of late has Dean had the thought that the spell somehow unlocked some of Sam's long-buried childhood memories, that are now trying to scramble Sam's adult mind. Skewing the kid’s perception of which time he's living in. It would explain the regressive behaviour. And Dean's been having plenty of dreams lately from their younger years too, but seen as Dean was never really a kid to begin with… Dean stops himself with a shake of his head.

The more he thinks on all this crap the more confused he gets; each thought blending into another until he can no longer remember what the fuck he was going on about to begin with. Especially when he starts thinking on his own dreams and behaviour lately. He figured that out at least, so it is much easier to focus on Sammy.

Who's currently still standing there with his pants and underwear around his knees, shaking his head back and forth like some kind of shaggy dog with all that hair flying around. And any other day Dean might be amused by the sight, but right now Dean's honestly too frigging tired.

"Sammy, you need to pee. This is all we got."

"S'not a potty. 'S’a tree," Sammy points out, as if Dean needs that clarifying just one more time.

Calling on whoever the fuck it is that grants patience, Dean is able to calmly say, "I know that, bud," without any bite to his tone.

Because this is getting old, very quickly. They've been standing here for at least five minutes now, just waiting on Sammy to step up to the tree and take a piss. Only for the kid to tell Dean the tree is _not_ a potty.

And around and around they go.

"Sam, c'mon, kiddo, your bottom has gotta be cold by now. You don't even have to go by the tree, just stay right there and pee."

“Nah-uh. S'not …”

“… A potty. Right. Got that, thanks, kiddo.”

“Don't be mad.”

“I'm not mad, Sammy.”

“Are too,” Sammy responds, bottom lip pushing out into a pout and fingers playing with the hem of his jacket. “You being sarcastic.”

“You know that’s just my usual disposition.”

Sam pulls in his lip from its pout so he can smile softly. “Did you mild-meld with a dee’ary, De?” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Dictionary, bud,” he states, still calling on that patience, even as he corrects his little brother’s terminology for the book Sammy first read cover to cover when he was seven and consequently called ‘dee-ary’ because he couldn’t pronounce ‘dictionary’.

Such a geek.  

“I gotsa go, De,” Sammy brings them back to why the hell they’re standing in the woods this time, his feet shuffling in the dance of every kid who leaves it too long to go potty.

“Sammy, you’re standing there with everything blowing in the breeze. Either go pee or pull your pants back up and we’ll go to the car. But I’m warning you right now, that we still have a forty-minute drive ahead of us, and I have no idea if there’ll be another stop along the way.”

_Come on, kiddo, say you’ll go_ , Dean silently pleads.

Because aside from not wanting his kid to be in pain from holding it in, Dean also doesn’t want Sammy to have to face an accident. The last one Sam slept through. They won’t have that luxury this go around.

Sam bites at his bottom lip as his eyes travel to the tree before returning to Dean. The kid once again shakes his head.

Dean withholds a sigh. “Then you're gonna have to hold it, baby. You think you can do that? It's gonna hurt your tummy.”

Sam nods sharply and starts pulling at his clothing. “‘M a big boy. Can hold it.”

_Yeah, a big boy who wants a potty_ , Dean thinks, stepping forward to unwind the boxer-briefs Sammy’s twisting around the waistband of his pants.

“C’mon,” Dean says as soon as he has the clothing righted. He grasps hold of Sam’s hand this time rather than the kid’s wrist as he had on the way in. “Quicker we get back to the impala, the quicker we get you to a potty.”

The journey back through the trees is shorter than the one in. Even though Sam tripped over his own feet a couple times claiming something tripped him. But each time Dean shone the flashlight over the ground there wasn’t anything there that Sam could have tripped over. More than likely tiredness was making the kid clumsy. Thankfully they reach the tree-line in under a minute without an accident of either kind.

“Whoa, hey!” Dean exclaims, startled, as Sam yanks his hand free from Dean’s and starts running for the back end of the impala. Dean bolts after him, just managing to grab hold of the kid before he hits the road (parked on the shoulder or not) and spins Sam around to face him. “Sammy, what the hell you doing? You do NOT run towards a frigging road! Do I need to swat your behind for you to remember that?”

Sammy ducks his head down, casted arm trailing behind him to cover his butt. “Wasn't running towards the road, Dean, promise. Just 'pala.”

“Well you weren't running to your door, kid, so what were you doing?”

“I …” Sammy raises his head back up and glances towards the trunk, his brow creased into a deep frown. “I …” Once again, he trails off.

Dean’s eyes pinch as he allows a frown of his own forward. Sammy is clearly confused and unable to articulate his behaviour, so Dean decides it best to let it go and just get the hell out of there rather than push his brother right now. Opening the passenger door, Sammy slides in.

“What happened?” Cas questions as soon as Dean gets behind the wheel, glancing back at a confused Sam.

Dean shakes his head, firing the engine and getting them back on the road, the ride silent.

Trees rush by the windows as the journey eats up another five minutes. Dean glances in his rear-view mirror at his kid. Sammy is just staring quietly out the window, a grimace of pain crossing his face as he holds his body rigid in the seat.

Dean sighs. Again.

“I thought …”

Dean and Cas hold their breath, hoping for some kind of answer to what happened back there.

“Thought what, Sammy?”

Sammy stares at him in the rear-view, a faint brush of pink decorating his cheeks and across his nose as he glances at Cas and back to the mirror. “I… I thought my potty …” His eyes travel over his shoulder out the back windshield.

And Dean gets it. He finally understands what Sammy was thinking. He’s pretty sure he should have figured it out sooner actually. After all, he was the one who had inadvertently brought forward Sam’s thinking when in the woods he said, “ _Quicker we get back to the impala, the quicker we get you to a potty_.”

Impala equals potty to a regressed Sammy.

“You thought your potty was in the trunk,” Dean states.

"Yeah.”

“Well, that’s an easy mistake to make, kiddo.”

“Easy mistake …” Sam shakes his head. “Dean, I thought my frigging potty was in the trunk and you’d get it out and sit me on the stupid thing so I could go pee!”

“You went potty in the woods, little one,” Cas interrupts, confused.

“No, he didn’t,” Dean corrects, hearing Sammy shifting in his seat, reminding them all that the kid still needs to go to the bathroom and if they don’t get to one soon, they’ll definitely be facing an accident. “Look, Sammy, I know, okay. But like I said, it was an easy mistake to make. You just got confused. Heck, your potty lived in the trunk for a good few years, didn’t it?”

“I know. It’s just… is none of this even bothering you, Dean? Either of you?” Sam asks, arms flapping in front of him as he tries to get his point across without actually saying anything beyond that.

“What the heck is supposed to be bothering us about you needing to go pee, Sammy? That’s about the most natural thing in our screwed-up lives,” Dean tells him. “If you wanna know whether it’s aggravating me that you’re hurting yourself right now because you couldn’t go against the tree? You bet. But I get it, buddy, okay. And I’ll get you to a potty.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” Sam says so quietly Dean and Cas have to strain to hear him. “And I don’t know if it’s just that you’ve been ignoring it, or hoping its gonna sort itself out on its own. Which, you know, when does it ever? But… none of us can deny that there’s something going on here beyond our control for much longer.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Dean quietly states, before the car descends into silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Dean and Cas silent because neither is quite sure how to continue to breach the topic raised. While Sam is primarily concerned with keeping control of his bladder.

Something that is becoming increasingly difficult by the second. But every time he opens his mouth to ask Dean to pull over, that he’ll pee against whatever tree is available to him, the thought that he needs his potty rears its ugly head. And he's back to concentrating on the sharp and very present ache in his gut and nothing else.

Dean’s eyes find the rear-view mirror again as another pained whimper leaves his kid. “Right, that’s it.” He pulls over onto the side of the road, gets out and pulls open Sam's door.

"What're you doing?” Sam questions through gritted teeth, not fighting it when Dean eases him around on his seat.

“I'm not having you hurting yourself like this anymore, Sam.” Opening the kid’s pant tie, Dean whisks both the pants and underwear under Sam’s butt and down his legs, taking the slip-on boots with him as he fully removes the clothing, dumping it in the footwell.

“I can’t, De,” Sam’s shoulders hunch as he shivers against the coolness of the seat under his butt.

"You can, buddy,” Dean encourages, pulling Sammy forward so the kid’s butt rests on the very edge of the seat. “You just gotta relax and let go. Your body will do the rest. I promise it’ll be just like sitting on a potty.”

Sam shakes his head. “No. I can’t. I don’t wanna mess ‘Pala.”

“You won’t, kiddo. And even if you did, you know what, Sammy?”

Sam blinks up at him. “What?”

“Baby likes a good clean. Inside and out. And sometimes she doesn’t get to have that unless we make a mess.”

“She’s been messed up loads. Poor ‘Pala. But I _can’t_ do it.”

“Sammy,” Dean cups his brother’s cheek, giving him a smile, “you already did, buddy.”

“Huh? Did what?”

“Your tummy hurting anymore?” Dean questions. Even as concern rears its head as to why Sam didn’t recognise he had started peeing when they started talking about the Impala.

“No,” Sam shakes his head, because his tummy _doesn’t_ hurt anymore, which can only mean … “Oh. I did it! I go pee like a big boy, De!”

Dean chuckles lightly, the pride shining through, the same pride he held when Sammy first used a potty. And isn’t that just stupid? To be proud of something his kid already long ago mastered. But Dean doesn’t care if Sammy sits down to pee, or wants a potty, or hell, ends up back in diapers. All that counts, is that his little boy is happy. And Sammy sure is happy right now.

“You sure did, bud.” He is careful to keep his boots out of the puddle on the ground as he helps Sammy back into his clothing, save for the kid’s boots which he leaves in the footwell.

“Well done, little one,” Cas praises, offering a proud smile when Sam turns towards him, a shy returning smile gracing his lips. 

Dean holds up Sam’s pacifier and the kid readily takes it, humming lightly in appreciation. He leans into the car, reaching over Sammy and pulls their green blanket towards his kid, covering him over. Sam grasps a fistful, pulling it up to his cheek and lightly rubbing against the fabric, his eyes already drooping and Dean situates him a little more comfortably.

“Night, baby boy,” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of Sammy’s head.

Closing the back door, Dean opens his own and closes it behind him once he’s situated behind the wheel once more. Firing up the engine, he pulls them back onto the road, glancing at his partner every now and then. Cas is still sitting sideways; left leg raised on the seat, an arm atop the backrest and his chin resting on his hand as he watches Sammy sleep.

“He’s okay,” Dean whispers, giving the man’s calf a squeeze.

“He came too close to not being so. And he’s just so innocent, Dean. How do we protect him from everything in this world that wants to do him harm?”

“There’s no way we can, Cas,” Dean responds, honestly and wearily. “And for Sammy… it was too late to protect him from everything before he was even born.”

“Does that mean we don’t even try?”

“Hell, yes, we try! Or weren’t you even present when you were beating the shit outta White back there, Cas? Did blind rage just take over?”

“I was conscious of my actions at first. Confused by what I was seeing on those screens through the open door, and when I realised just _who_ I was seeing… this protective fury rose up inside of me towards Sam, towards my child …”

“Tell me something, Cas? And I’m not having a got at ya, but… when exactly did Sammy become your child?”

“When did he become yours?”

“Not talking about me.” Dean shoots a look at his partner, the man slowly turning back around to face forward. “I’m just saying, you’ve gone from hating him to seeing him as your child …”

“I never hated Sam,” Cas returns unwaveringly. “Never. I didn’t _understand_ Sam. I only ever had the teachings of Heaven. That the youngest Winchester was-was …”

“An _abomination_ I think you called him.”

“Yes. And I will forever regret it, Dean. I am not perfect. I made mistakes then. As we all did. I was blind to Sam as a human being; a sweet, caring, thoughtful, innocent child. I only saw ‘the boy with the demon blood’ as I was made to believe, as my actions attested to. But Sam was so very different to what he was made out to be. Different than even you, Dean, ‘the righteous man’.”

Dean sighs; he hates having these types of conversations with Sam, let alone Cas. And he hates those categorisations heaven tacked onto them even more. “The world isn’t black and white, Cas. Especially the one _we_ live in. Just as being human doesn’t automatically make you good, being something of the supernatural variety doesn’t equal evil. And it was the so-called ‘boy with the demon blood’ who taught the supposed ‘righteous man’ that.” Dean glances sideways at his partner, before looking back to the road. “Sammy sees the grey. He always has. And it’s got him into trouble more than once.”

“I wanted to destroy White,” Cas admits quietly, unnecessarily really for Dean is already aware of that. Hell, Sam is aware of that. “Not just kill him, but _annihilate_ him,” Cas’ fingers curl into his palms. “And if he had managed to lay a hand on Sam …”

“White wouldn’t have seen the light of day, trust me on that.”

“I am not used to feeling _this_ protective of another, Dean. I know I would kill for _you_ , give everything for _you_ , but now, for Sam, I’d …”

“Watch the world burn,” Dean states knowingly.

“Yes,” Cas recognises without pause.

“Welcome to the Dean Winchester way of things, Castiel. Strap on in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

 

**#SPN#**

 

Relief floods Dean’s body as he finally turns the Impala into the Jeffries’ long driveway; the trees lining the way opening up to the view of the sprawling two-storey cabin house with tall doors and even taller windows. A double garage stands alone off to the right of the house with a loft above, and another single garage-loft combo resides just behind and to the right-side of the double garage.

The exterior lights highlight several vehicles parked up on the open paved front yard, one of which is a dark blue truck that two men are quietly standing next to.

“The Jeffries’ live here?” Cas questions surprised.

“Yep,” Dean replies, pulling the Impala alongside the truck.

Shutting off the engine, Dean glances back at Sam’s sleeping form before climbing from the car, Cas following suit. The taller of the two men steps forward; he stands the same height as Dean, a short beard and cropped brown hair sticking up as if the guy just dragged himself out of bed.

“Been too damn long, Dean,” the man says, grasping Dean’s outstretched hand.

“You too, Mason. Thought you were out in Denver?”

“Teaching position at SeattleU drew me back about five years ago,” Mason responds, eyes shifting to Cas.

“Cas, this is Mason, Kara’s son,” Dean introduces. “Mason, Castiel.”

“Castiel? As in the angel?” the second man questions, stepping away from the truck to stand beside Mason.

“Yes,” Cas responds, making no mention of the fact he is no longer an angel. They had agreed it may be safer that way. Unless, of course, Crowley feels the need to open his mouth.

“Dean, Castiel, this is Michael. My partner.”

Dean frowns and points an inquiring finger at Michael. “Why do I think I should recognise you?”

“We’ve met. Fitchburg, Wisconsin. About ten years ago now. You and Sam saved the town from a Shtriga.”

Dean’s eyes widen. Remembering back to the thirteen-year-old kid who had helped them defeat the Shtriga a decade ago to save his own little brother. And although the hair is a darker blonde and shorter, the facial features that of a man instead of a teenager, he can now see the resemblance to the kid he met.

“Oh man! You’re _that_ Michael?” Michael nods. Dean grins, slapping the kid on the shoulder. “It’s good to see ya alive and well, dude. How’s your little brother, err, Asher, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Michael nods, lips curved up in a little grin. “Asher’s good, man. He’s a shit. But he’s good.”

Dean chuckles. “Man, I wish Sammy was awake right now.”

“We’ll catch up, I’m sure. We’re gonna be back later, so …” Michael shrugs one shoulder.

“You’re heading out?” Dean questions, looking between Mason and Michael.

“We’re gonna hit up a lead for this witch you’re after,” Mason responds. He holds up a hand to stop whatever protest Dean is about to make. “I’m not asking for your permission here, dude. We’re capable of dealing with it.”

“Specially now we know what she looks like, thanks to that drawing of her you sent out to the network,” Michael adds.

The drawing was still only a rough draft, but it was a good enough likeness (at least according to Sammy and Cas) Dean had wanted to get it out there. He had taken a photo of the drawing and texted it out before they had packed up the Impala earlier. It should make it a little easier for any hunter out there helping them out with leads on the witch. Especially now, after events in Vancouver.

“You guys should get some rest,” Mason states, “‘cause you both look beat.”

Cas snorts wryly. “We did the beating.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Mason’s eyes rove over both Dean and Cas’ split knuckles. “House is open. You remember where the guest room you guys used to stay is?” Dean nods. “Good. You’re set up in there,” he adds, before he climbs behind the wheel of the truck, Michael rounding the truck to get in the passenger side. “Oh,” Mason pauses in closing his door. “You hear that?” he points a finger upward.

Dean frowns, but listens closer to the repetitive thuds he’s been hearing since he stepped out of the car. He groans. “Woodpile?”

“Yep. Just watch out for the sharp end.”

“Your mom or the axe?”

Mason and Michael laugh. “Both,” they chorus.

“Gotcha. And thanks,” Dean’s not thanking them for the warning.

They nod in understanding and close doors before heading out.

Dean rounds the Impala and opens the driver-side passenger door, picking Sammy up into his arms. “Grab our duffles and Sam’s script, would ya, Cas? Shoulda really got the ear drops in earlier.”

“I’m sure it will not cause any harm to be a little delayed.”

Dean doesn’t respond, already ascending the stone steps with his sleeping brother on his hip. He opens the unlocked front door and enters, the warmth of the house a welcome juxtaposition to the cold outside.    

He feels Sammy stir, no doubt from the change in temperature, and rubs his back, swaying back and forth a little, whispering nonsense. Sammy mumbles, eyes blinking open once to half-mast before drifting closed again and remaining closed as the kid drops back into sleep.

When Cas appears, and has closed the front door behind him, Dean quietly leads him upstairs and through the maze of hallways until they reach the guest suite in the far left of the house. There is one king standing central on the far wall and a sofa bed pulled out and made up to the left of the suite’s door.

Dean crosses the room and lays Sam down on the king. Removing both the hat and scarf, he makes quick work of delivering the single drop of antibiotic eardrop into each of Sammy’s ears, being careful not to allow any to run back out. He lightly scratches at Sammy’s scalp when the kid fidgets, hand rising to rub at his ear in his sleep, a pained whine escaping from around the nipple of his pacifier.  

“I know, buddy,” Dean says quietly, drawing his kid back up into his arms, hating that he has to cause Sammy pain to keep the abrasions in his ears from becoming infected. “But they’re gonna help,” he reassures them both, even if Sam is still sleeping.

The bed dips beside him as Cas sits down. “Can we have Sam in with us?”

“That’s the plan. Can you stay with him while I go find Kara?”

#

The axe snaps down towards Dean’s head. He catches it by the top of the wooden handle, the bottom half being held in the hold of a furious woman.

“God dammit, Dean Winchester, I coulda killed ya!!” Kara Jeffries yells, yanking the axe out of his hold and flinging it into the large woodpile, where it imbeds itself deeply into one of the logs.

Dean shrugs lightly, smirking. “Give me a little credit, Kara.”

“Credit’s due to those who don't act like an idiot, and nearly get their heads cut off! Where's the baby?” She demands, brushing away dark brown strands of hair from her face.

Dean blinks at the sudden shift. “What baby?”

She levels him with a look, bold brown eyes telling him he’s being an idiot on purpose. “ _Sam_.”

Dean's eyes narrow. “Rae’s got a big mouth.”

“Agreed,” Kara shrugs, lips quirked into a half-smirk. “Except my daughter didn't need to tell me anything, Dean. I have eyes. Or was that not Sam you carried into the house with a pacifier in his mouth?”

“Thought you were too busy working out some good old aggression on the woodpile?”

“It might come as a shock to you, Dean Winchester, but I'm capable of doing more than one thing at a time. Especially when it comes to knowing who's entering my house.”

“He's inside,” Dean relents. “Asleep. Cas is with him.”

He sits his ass on the wooden beam of the sawhorse behind him, while Kara pulls off her gloves and digs into a bucket full of water, retrieving two beers. She swipes the bottles down with her palm, before passing one to Dean. She drops down to sit on the sawhorse beside him, swigging at her beer as Dean does the same.

“Ahhh,” Dean savours the taste of the good cold beer. “You brew this?”

“Friend of ours a few houses over.”

Dean nods. “Gained anymore residents?”

“A few. Mostly of the AP persuasion, but we’ve had a worn-out hunter here and there.”

Originally established by the Jeffries’ brothers as a sanctuary for weary hunters (a rarely known one), Yrautcnas has evolved into an unincorporated community over the years.

Protected by moss-covered sigils hand-carved into the many trees lining the border of the small town on the east side of Olympic National Park, the property borders of houses are each individually protected by the same warding. It’s protection, however, is not fool-proof as you can’t fully defend open air.

But of all the years Dean has known about Yrautcnas, its yet to have had an attack of the supernatural kind. And the only reason he does know about it is because of Bobby, through whom Sam and Dean had met the Jeffries’ kids when the family lived in Sioux Falls. Sam and Dean had been fortune enough to have made a few trips out here with Bobby, the only vacation they had ever known.

It was only later that Tom and Kara upped-sticks out here fully.

The next time he had visited was with his dad for a hunt. Kara had given sanctuary to a couple with an adult-baby. Into a small community of hunters. Hunters who (even retired or on sabbatical) are a tough breed, the majority would not have the patience for such an escapism as age-play when they are placing their lives on the line every day.

Would call it soft or pathetic.

Like Dean once had.

He had followed his dad’s lead (as was the usual case back then) and John Winchester had had no tolerance for the age-play, nor the idea of retiring from the life of a hunter. At least not before they had taken out the thing that killed mom. And even then, John would undoubtedly never have given up the life.

_Just like us_ , Dean has to allow.

But Dean had also been disgusted at the thought of adults playing as children while having sex with their ‘carers’. It was the only thing he had known about age-play at the time. And Dean knows when to draw a line under sex. Sawyer, Kara’s eldest daughter, had filled him in on the reality of non-sexual age-play. And while Dean may not have fully understood it, he got it, especially when he realised his baby brother had some traits of a little.

Not that he had had _any_ intention of telling Sam that.

But drawing these two very different communities together should in no way have worked, and yet, somehow Kara had managed to do so. And while Dean had not visited Yrautcnas since that time with his dad, he knows it has expanded.

Trusted hunters come for the protection, living or taking time off in the place, while the age-play side of things has moved in around them. Kara having opened a day care for littles and AB’s so their parents or carers can work. And from what Dean’s heard, outlying towns and cities with people involved in the age-play community also bring their ‘kids’ to the day care. Even if they have to travel several hours each way.

It is still strange to Dean. But he doesn’t give a shit about the norms of society, so who is he to judge people’s life choices? Hell, he might have a Little of his own. He just doesn’t want anything to do with it if people are having sex with those ‘kids’ in little headspaces. Because those that are involved in that side of age-play can fuck the hell off away from him.  

Dean can feel Kara side-eyeing him. “You know I’m not gonna take you and Tom up on your offer, Kara, so quit looking at me like that.”

“I know. The visiting offer still stands though. Here or at the cabin. You boys used to love it here. Running around out there without many other houses around. You were a kid for a little while.”

“Yeah, well …” Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Bobby used to nag us not to go further than the boundaries,” he says shifting the conversation away from what can’t be changed.

“You never stepped over them if I recall rightly.”

“Had my kid to watch out for.”

“And Bobby’s hand if memory serves.”

“Yeah, that too,” Dean chuckles.

A comfortable silence descends upon them, both swigging away at their beers. Dean eventually figures he should bring up the reason why Kara was out here furiously hacking her way through the woodpile.

“Cas told me what happened in Vancouver.”

Because as it turned out, the girl in the grainy picture Kara had sent them yesterday morning (before they realised Sammy had done a disappearing act) was a decoy. Same height and build as Rowena, and wearing a red wig, she was paid to impersonate the witch. The teenage girl had confessed everything when Kara had stuck her gun in the girl’s face. 

Watching Kara closely while she continues to stare off into the darkened woods before them, Dean can see that while Kara’s expression remains stoic, her brown eyes fill with fury.

“Not all of it.”

Dean arcs a questioning eyebrow.

“Don’t get me wrong, Dean,” she starts, turning to look at him, “in recent years I’ve met and gotten to know some good people who happen to be witches, but the bad’ens, like this Rowena …” Kara shakes her head. “Pathetic fucking witch didn’t pay the kid with money, Dean. Rowena gave her a love potion.”

Well fuck. That was possibly the worst move Rowena could ever have pulled with Kara around. And he knows that from experience. Because that hunt he and his dad had come to Yrautcnas for all those year ago, it was to help Kara and a couple other hunters take down a coven of witches selling to pedophiles’ using love potions on kidnapped teens and pre-teens.

Love potions kill both the recipient and the bearer.

And while Dean couldn’t give a shit about a bunch of pedo’s getting their dues, kids’ dying because of fucked up sadists?

No. Just no.

It still remains to this day (even after all he has been through) one of the worst hunts Dean has ever experienced. His first with witches, and generally why he despises them. It had also been the first time he had been grateful Sammy was away at school and not on the hunt with them.

And Kara… the coven had stood no chance against her fury.

“You get there in time to stop the kid from using it?”

“Thankfully, yes. And proceeded to explain in graphic detail what would have happened to her had she used it. Of course, now she won’t be going anywhere near recreational drugs in the future either.”

“You couldn’t’ve left the girl to have a little fun?” Dean smirks lightly as Kara shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“So, what exactly is Rowena’s deal?”

“Aside from being the King of Hell’s mother …”

“Crowley’s _mother_? Well that’s fucked up.” Dean snorts. “What’d she do to get the Winchesters’ on her tail?”

Dean sighs. Normally he wouldn’t air their business, but the Jeffries’ are good people. Trustworthy. “If we don’t hand Rowena’s ass over to Crowley by a week Monday, he’s gonna break any number of my kid’s bones or worse.”

“Correction, _that’s_ fucked up.” Kara takes a swig of her beer, before she chuckles lightly, sadly. “You boy’s really don’t like keeping yourselves outta trouble, do ya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted this chapter to end at, “Welcome to the Dean Winchester way of things, Castiel. Strap on in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” I think that would've been a great place to end it, but in sorting chapter 18, I realised that chapter was going to end up super huge if I didn't put some of that onto the end of this one. So, partly the reason I'm not happy with it. 
> 
> Also, I'm sure you've guessed by now that Yrautcnas is not a real town. And if I screwed up with any of the surrounding area, I'm sorry. I don't know any of America, save for what I see on TV, so I kinda have to wing it. 
> 
> Oh, and please let me know if there should be a tag for the beginning of this chapter. I don’t know if we’ve already established that I’m shit at tagging, but well… I’m shit at tagging, lol ;-P


	19. Chapter Eighteen Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A giant, a De-De ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse seems to have had a lot to say with this one, so it has ended up being a bit of a long one. I know, I know, so not a normal occurrence for me, right? ;) Anyway, I’ve split the chapter again so it’s another two-parter. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy both and you won’t be yawning with boredom halfway through.

**Chapter 18: Part One**

 

Dean scrubs at an eye, glancing at his watch, the luminescent hands revealing it to be nearly five AM. He’s managed to get in a good couple hours’ of sleep, better than he’s had in a while. Now, what the hell woke him up?

Sammy is sleeping peacefully beside him; his head pillowed on Dean’s right arm, pacifier hanging from his lips and fingers curled loosely into Dean’s black tee. Dean’s gaze then drifts to Cas sitting up in bed and scrubbing hands over his face.

“Cas, you okay?”

“Knock on the door.”

“Huh?”

A light knock on the guest room door clues Dean in. He slides his free hand beneath his pillow, withdrawing his gun and holds it beside his right thigh, the opposite side to which Sam lies. He curls his arm protectively around his kid, while Cas slides his angel blade from beneath his own pillow. There may be protective wards in and around the Jeffries’ house and grounds, but there is no way either of them is going to take any chances.  

Cas rises from the bed, crossing the room with his angel blade held behind his back. Pulling the door open, he is surprised by the giant of a man standing on the other side. A man that would undoubtedly make even Sam look diminutive in comparison if the two were to stand side by side.

“Stand down, Cas. We’re good,” Dean quietly instructs, carefully extracting himself from Sam to pull on the clothing he earlier discarded before climbing into bed.

Sliding his blade into the back waistband of his lounge pants, Cas actually has to take a step back to take the giant of a man in. And he now understands the size dimensions of the doors and ceilings within the Jeffries’ house that he had seen on the way in. With salt and pepper beard, receding hair and a thick neck, the man has to be seven feet tall or more and early to late sixties. Hazel eyes leave Cas and find Dean as Dean joins them at the door.

“Sorry it’s so damn early,” the man observes with a rumbling voice, quieted for the hour, and an accent Cas is unable to place. “Kara says you need outta here a.s.a.p.”

“Yeah. Thanks for coming back from L.A. earlier than you were planning, Tom.” Dean holds out a hand to whom Cas can now only assume is Tom Jeffries, the very person they came here to see. “It’s good to see ya again, man.”

“It’s been too damn long, lad,” Tom responds, large hand almost dwarfing Dean’s. “But I know you boys usually have ya plates full of crazy these days.” Dean arcs an eyebrow, wondering how much of that crazy has filtered back to the Jeffries’ over the years. Rae had clearly had an idea back at the clinic. “You must be Castiel. Tom Jeffries.”

Cas nods, shaking the outstretched hand, taking in the strong grip and callouses. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too.” Tom shifts his eyes back to Dean. “You up for heading out to the parlour?”

Up for it? Dean would say yes even if he wasn't. It’s only the whole damn reason they're here, after all. He nods, grabbing his jacket from the back of the desk chair he slung it over earlier. “Cas, stay with Sammy. If he wakes, tell him I’ll be back soon.”

Cas nods, returning to the bed and sliding his angel blade back beneath his pillow, while the door snicks closed behind Dean. Sam shifts and whimpers in his sleep as if sensing Dean’s loss from the room.

“Shh, little one, do not worry, he will be back soon,” Cas soothes, climbing back into the bed and close to Sam, placing a finger to the boy’s pacifier just as he has seen Dean do until Sam is once again sucking lazily in his sleep.

#

Dean scrubs his hands over his face to wake himself up a little more as he follows Tom across the yard. Though the cold morning air alone is doing a better job of waking him up. A minute later, they enter the detached double garage that houses Tom’s wood shop on the ground floor and the home tattoo parlour in the upper floor loft. Dean climbs the stairs after the older man.

“Ya absolutely sure ya wanna do this, Dean?” Tom queries the moment Dean’s closed the door behind them.

“It’s definitely not blood magic?” Dean counters, for his own peace of mind.

He knows Tom’s had time to delve into the information and the added protection it will offer. Dean sent it to the man months ago. Somewhere between Sammy bringing him back from demon-hood with a little slice of human blood, and that ghost ganking his Mark of Cain infused ass.

He had started in on the research after realising Sam still hadn’t had his tattoo redone. Even though the kid had been tussling with demons in his hunt for a demonic Dean. Not the most sensible of ideas and Dean can only be grateful nothing worse came of it. And thankful Sammy’s not as stupid as he can sometimes act; the kid having protection in the shape of the old talismans Bobby gave them years ago and which now reside on Sam’s ankles.

Still, Dean hadn’t been impressed.

But knowing how much the kid hates needles, Dean had tried to find a way to get around that issue. He hadn’t wanted to push his brother into getting it done again. Especially when he was the one who ordered the burning of the original.

Needless to say, finding a way around marking Sam’s skin again with a tattoo had been a complete bust. But it had brought him the information he’d found hidden amongst the Men of Letters numerous archives. A means of creating a greater protection within an anti-possession tattoo by way of familial blood.

And while Dean’s done the research, looked into it in depth and is sure it’s genuine, he trusts Tom Jeffries to tell him if the information is legit or absolute hokum.    

Tom shakes his head while parking his ass on a wooden stool clearly made for his height. Tom’s own work, more than likely. “I’d’a told you to take a hike long before now if there were blood magic involvement in this, laddie. It’ll heighten the protection of the sigil, that’s all. My concern is your blood’s gonna be introduced to Sam’s body …”

“I’m a donor match,” Dean interrupts without going into detail.

Tom knows the life. He doesn’t need to hear how many times Dean has had to give Sammy blood over the years. The kid seeming to always find some way of losing that life-giving fluid. Or more often than not it’s the assholes who find numerous ways to hurt on Dean’s kid.

Like asshole vampires wanting to take a meal on the road. Or the ghouls posing as their dead half-brother, Adam, and Adam’s dead mother; the bastards’ slicing Sam’s arms open to bleed him dry. Dean having had to give Sam a rudimentary transfusion and stitch up the cuts and stab wounds in the middle of a shit-hole cabin. Fear of the kid potentially being locked away on suicide watch keeping him from taking Sam to a hospital.

It would especially not do to mention that revenge against John for killing the ghouls’ father years prior was the motivation behind that incident. Tom had never been John Winchester’s number one fan. Dean snorts silently. His dad seemed to have had that effect on near enough everyone he’d known.

But if Tom turns around right now and tells Dean this idea will have a detrimental impact on Sammy’s health, even with Dean being a donor match, then the blood will get scrapped. Sammy will just have to have a regular anti-possession tattoo. Because Dean will not risk his kid like that.

A giant paw of a hand pats his shoulder far gentler than you would think a man of Tom’s size capable of, and Dean unconsciously holds his breath while he awaits the older man’s decision.

“A donor match is good enough for me, lad.”

Dean steadily breaths out and nods gratefully.

He takes the sterilised knife Tom holds out to him and presses the blade’s tip against his left hand, right at the edge of the palm. He ignores the sting as blood immediately rises. Setting the knife off to the side, Dean holds his hand over the sterilised vial Tom holds. And with the accuracy in number of drops required, both their concentration focuses fully on the slowly dripping substance.

Reaching the count of thirteen, Dean draws away, eyes meeting Tom’s for verification.

“Thirteen,” the man agrees.

Dean nods, grabbing out a bandana from his jacket pocket and binding it around his hand to stop the bleeding. “How long?”

“Good few hours.”

Dean nods his head in acknowledgement, knowing beforehand that having to put the ink together in this way would take some time. “So, how’s this gonna work?” He questions, curious as to how Tom will make the blood and ink gel together seamlessly.

“It works by way of you buggering off and leaving me alone to work, lad.”

“Right.” Dean probably should have seen that coming. “Gotcha.”

“I'll text you when it's done.” Tom throws him a smirk. “Now get some sleep, Dean. You look like shit.”

Dean flips him the bird before making his way back down the stairs, chuckling at the sound of Tom’s booming guffaw trailing behind him.

#

With several hours to kill and now too awake to go back to sleep, Dean decides to deal with the necessities. Namely their laundry. They won't have time to do it on the road in the coming weeks and Sam can’t go hunting in nothing but Iron Man pj’s.

Returning to the guest suite, Dean’s pleased to see Sammy is still out for the count; sucking contentedly on his pacifier as he takes up the majority of the space on the side Cas is lying, the former-angel now all but hanging off the edge of the bed.

Snorting quietly in amusement, Dean kneels on the bed and shifts Sammy closer to the middle. The kid wriggles and lets out a soft whine as his hands rise to rub at his eyes, but thankfully he doesn't wake and settles back down easily. “Why didn’t you just move him?”

“I didn’t want to chance waking him,” Cas responds gruffly, voice fogged with sleep as he shifts back fully onto the mattress. “Thank you,” he adds as Dean crosses the room to silently dump out his and Sam’s duffles on the unused sofa-bed, separating clean clothing from the dirty, with the light from the hall offering enough illumination in the darkened room. “What time is it?”

“Nearly half-five,” Dean responds to Cas after a quick glance at his watch. “You got any dirty laundry?”

“The plastic bag in my pack,” Cas responds, letting his head drop back onto his pillow. “You need to sleep more, Dean. These coming weeks will probably not allow for it.”

“I’ll get enough. Go back to sleep, Cas.” Dean slips out the door after retrieving the plastic bag from Cas’ backpack and stuffing it in Sam’s duffle with the rest of the dirty laundry.

Needless to say, the dirty pile was larger than the clean.

Reaching the kitchen, Dean sets about mixing and warming a morning drink for Sammy, knowing that although the kid needs to sleep, it won’t be much longer before he wakes. A usual habit when they’re on the road, for both of them. Only the bunker now allows them the luxury of sleeping late. That is if they don’t set alarms like Sammy has a tendency to do.

It is only a few minutes later when Kara joins him, dressed for the day and offering a tired smile. “Morning, Dean,” she greets, crossing the kitchen to the coffee machine.

“Morning. Did I wake you?”

Kara shakes her head, pouring herself a coffee. “I didn’t really get to sleep. Where’s the baby?”

Dean sighs, stilling the wooden spoon he’s stirring around the small pan sitting on the cooktop embedded into the kitchen island. “Look, Kara,” his eyes find hers, as he returns to slowly stirring the pan’s contents, “I appreciate you guys putting us up and Tom doing the tats… but I’m gonna tell you what I told Rae. I’ll admit Sam has traits you no doubt see in the adult-babies and littles you have around this place, he _is_ a young soul, but this, what's happening right now with my brother… there are extenuating circumstances.”

Dean would love nothing more than to fool himself into believing Sam is just a Little; that the spell hasn’t fucked with his baby brother’s brain. He would love that. But he knows that would do them all a disservice; to just brush it under the rug with a potential answer, when there is far more going on here than just Sam’s regressive behaviour. A regressive behaviour that doesn’t follow any pattern Sawyer told him of when explaining age-play all those years ago. And from what he's found online since.

Sam doesn’t drop down into a headspace. It’s a constant shift. And if Sam _was_ a Little, Dean knows the kid wouldn’t allow himself to be openly little more than a few hours a week, if that. Especially if it was Dean caring for him. The kid too stuck on being a burden to his big brother. Which is so far from the truth, it’s ridiculous Sam hasn’t caught on yet.

Sure, they’ve had their moments of pissing each other off. They’ve done wrong by each other more than once. But the kid has never been a burden on Dean. He has no idea where that thought even came from. No, Dean corrects himself, he _does_ have an idea where it stems from. But it raises too many conflicting emotions within him to take stock in present company.  

“And these circumstances might be?”

Kara’s question draws Dean from his thoughts. He shakes his head. “Not something I can discuss with you, Kara. But if those circumstances are drawing out little traits in Sam,” he continues, “fair enough, I'll support him all the way because he’s my kid. What I won't put up with is any of this being broadcast to Sam by an outside source.” _So, don’t refer to Sam as a baby in front of the kid_ remains silent, but Dean can see the understanding seep into Kara’s eyes.

She nods, message received. “But you can’t keep it from him forever, Dean. Especially not here.”

“I got no intention of hiding it from him, Kara.”

“Will he accept it?”

“What goes on here, you mean?” Kara nods and Dean can see the hope for understanding in her eyes on Sam’s part. “To a fault, probably,” Dean replies truthfully. “After he’s researched it. Sammy isn’t judgemental.” He shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and chews, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Outside of his big brother’s bad table manners, that is,” he smirks, cleaning the milk residue on his hand against his jeans.

Kara huffs a laugh. “So, where is Sam?”

Dean offers a small smile in thanks for her using Sam’s name. “Still asleep. You mind if I commandeer your laundry room? Sam went through most of his clothes and mine when he was sick.”

“Go right ahead,” Kara responds, waving in the direction of the door across the kitchen that leads through to both the laundry room and mudroom. Leaning back against the kitchen counter behind her and closing her eyes, she savours her coffee. She would offer to do his laundry for him because Dean looks beat, but she had just received a sharp reminder not to overstep bounds with the Winchesters, especially Dean.

“Thanks. You and the mug wanna get a room?”

“Can it,” she shoots him a grin, moving to sit at the breakfast bar. “Has that husband of mine been in yet or is he still out in the parlour?”  

“The latter.” Dean sets the heat beneath the pan to simmer, to keep the milk within warm without allowing it to boil again. “You got any tea?”

“Cabinet above the coffee machine. Thought you were a coffee man?”

“Oh, I am,” Dean agrees, opening the door of the kitchen cabinet and pulling out the box of tea for Cas. He still doesn’t understand the former-angel’s affinity for the disgusting brew. It just tastes like cardboard to Dean, but whatever floats Cas’ boat. And Sammy’s.

Where that boy got a liking for milky tea is anyone’s guess.

Kara stands again, crossing to the double fridge and opening both doors, perusing the contents. “What do you boys want for breakfast?”

“We’re good with just some toast.” Kara looks back at him disapprovingly, which only deepens further when Dean’s stomach grumbles loudly. “Or not,” Dean chuckles, feeling a faint blush across his cheeks, considering he’s already consumed a large bowl of cereal.

“Breakfast burritos it is,” Kara says, pulling out numerous items from the fridge and dumping them on the island. Overstepping bounds with the Winchesters doesn’t include making sure they get a decent meal. “They’re always a favourite. Chili peppers or sweet peppers?”

“Sweet peppers,” Dean provides, knowing Sam doesn’t handle spicy, even the slightest heat, as much as the kid likes to think he does. Dean – or Bobby – always had to separate out a bowl of very, _very_ mild chili just for Sam before adding the rest of the spice to their own. And he’s not sure if Cas even likes spicy, seen as they’ve yet to have any together. “But you don’t need to go to any trouble on our account, Kara,” Dean objects half-heartedly because Kara’s breakfast burritos are the best he remembers ever having.

The objection earns him another disapproving scowl. Dean gives in with a shake of his head, taking one last bite of cereal before scooping up Sam’s bag from where he dumped it on the kitchen table. Heading for the laundry room, he gets the clothing situated into appropriate piles before dumping it all into the twin machines and setting them to run.  

Returning to the kitchen, he moves to help Kara dice and slice up some of the ingredients (bacon, eggs, potato, sweet peppers and cheese) for the breakfast burritos, but she waves him off. Rolling his eyes, he takes a seat at the table after grabbing a mug of coffee for himself and pouring a fresh cup for Kara.

Kara nods her thanks. “What time you boys planning on heading out? I’ll make an extra batch to take with you.”

Dean doesn’t even bother mentioning it’s not necessary. Kara will just do what she wants anyway when it comes to food. “Depends on when we can get the tats done. You need us outta here at a specific time?”

“No,” Kara shakes her head. “You know you boys are welcome here for however long you want. I just know you can’t stick around today with us old folks.”

“You ain’t old, Kara.”

“You’re sweet. And full of shit.”

Dean quirks a half-smile. “We’ll come back for a visit when things aren’t so craptastic.”

“I would hold you to that, Dean, but I know the life. It doesn’t open a lot of opportunities for a vacation. And you boys seem to have had it a hell of a lot worse than most if rumours are to be believed.” Kara levels a look at him, and Dean has a feeling some of those rumours are a little too close to home, to the truth.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t put too much stock in those rumours. We ain’t the best liked.”

“Think you’d be surprised how many hunters out there actually respect you boys. Silently, of course. And those rumours… there is truth buried in the majority of them.”

“There’s always truth buried in rumours, Kara,” Dean rises to take the pan of milk off the cooktop and shut off the heat. “It’s the distortion of ‘em from hunter to hunter that creates a problem.”

“Guess it’s handy to have some… what was it Bobby called them? Ah, yes, _Winchester Gospels,_ to provide some truth then.”

“ _Bobby_ ,” Dean curses the man. “If that old bastard weren’t already dead, I’d kill him. Along with Chuck.”

Kara can’t help smiling sadly at the affectionate lilt in Dean’s tone when he speaks of Bobby, even when the man is cussing out the deceased hunter. “Chuck?”

“The damn writer! Please tell me you haven’t read those things,” Dean almost pleads, remembering certain parts he would prefer Kara – or anyone – never read.

Kara shrugs, setting up a couple frying pans on her cooktop. “They made for an informative read. I mean, do you really have a birthmark the shape of a cactus on your left teste?”

“Kara!” Dean protests, though he is just as equally amused as he is mortified. He feels his cheeks heat, Kara one of the few women he knows who can embarrass him to the extent of Sammy-level blushing. For which she is obviously taking great enjoyment in.

“Aww, honey, I won’t spread it around,” she winks at him, laughing.

Grumbling under his breath about invasive prophets, and books _some_ people just shouldn’t read, Dean gives the milk a brisk stir, almost spilling it over the edge of the pan in his exuberance.

Pouring the milk into Sam’s blue sippy cup a moment later, Dean’s annoyance drifts away as he hears the familiar sleepy-shuffle of Sammy’s sock-clad feet coming towards the kitchen. The kid’s lone footsteps indicating Sam made his escape from the guest room without waking Cas.

“In here, Sammy,” he calls, making his presence known to his searching kid.

#

Her mirth under control, Kara raises an eyebrow at Dean, before shifting her face into a smile when Sam (dressed in Iron Man pj’s) enters the kitchen, eyes barely open and hair sticking up every which way. And while her hands skilfully continue to prepare for breakfast (hell she could probably do it in her sleep), she unobtrusively observes the Winchesters as Sam leans his tall frame over slightly so he can plant himself against Dean’s right side.

And though it has been a few years since Kara has had the pleasure of having the Winchester boys in her home, or even seen them (save for the few photographs Bobby had shared of ‘his’ boys after one too many whiskeys), she is still surprised by how much Sam has actually grown since he was a teenager. The boy had looked as if he would be hard-pressed to reach Dean’s shoulders, let alone surpass his big brother’s height.

Yet here he stands. Several inches taller than Dean, but still clearly every inch the baby brother. And she offers a smile when Sam’s eyes flicker towards her. The baby (Dean can’t stop her using the terminology for the boy in her own head) fully aware of her presence. Made all the clearer as he buries his pink face in his brother’s neck and tries to wrap himself around Dean. Clearly embarrassed at needing the comfort of his big brother in front of Kara, yet unable to stop himself from seeking it.  

Dean’s eyes roll for her benefit as he wraps an arm around Sam to draw the baby up onto his hip, gently bouncing the boy as he talks quietly, reassuringly, against his baby brother’s ear. Dean obviously unaware that in this moment it is easy for her to see beyond the exasperated big brother exterior to the pure love he holds for Sam.

“Here,” Kara steps in when she sees Dean struggling to figure out how he’s going to carry two hot mugs, a sippy cup and Sam in one go.

She grabs out a couple adult to-go mugs with handles, pouring the tea into one, the coffee into the other and snapping on the lids. It will also keep the liquid warmer if Castiel is still asleep. Returning to the brothers, Dean has obviously managed to get Sam to hold his sippy cup. The boy holding it close to his chest with his good hand, his face still turned away from her.

Dean nods his thanks as he takes one cup into the hand attached to the arm around Sam’s waist and the second cup into the other. She doesn’t bother to question his strength. Hunters work out. They have to if they want to stay alive. And her son, Mason, with the strength in his upper arms, would undoubtedly be able to lift Sam for a time, too. It helps, of course, that Sam is clinging to his big brother like a limpet.

#

Returning to the guest suite, Dean quietly enters with his kid. Setting down the beverages in his hold, he spares a glance at his sleeping partner while retrieving the sippy cup from Sammy, sitting it beside the others. Cas’ mouth is hanging open, hissed snores escaping him, along with the drool.

“D’you think he knows he sounds like a kitten when he snores?” Sammy says, staring at him in all seriousness but all Dean can do is snort in amusement. He’s been trying to place what Cas’ snoring sounds like for months now, and Sammy just hit the nail on the head.

A freaking kitten.

He chuckles.

“Do you?” Sam continues with a pat on his shoulder. “Think he knows?”

“You know you sound like a baby dinosaur when you snore?” Dean counters.

“Do not,” Sam pouts in denial. “I sounds like a huge dinosaur,” the kid spreads his arms wide to prove how big a dinosaur he sounds like. “ _Huge_ , De-De. As big as a skyscraper.”

Dean laughs quietly. “That right, huh?”

Sammy nods. “Cause I’s as big as a dinosaur. A velociraptor.” The kid makes a claw with his hand and hisses at Dean, before giggling. “And you sounds like a growly lion when you sleeping.”

Dean fakes a gasp. “I am positively offended, young man.”

“You can’t be offended by the truth, silly.”

“Oh really?” Dean pokes his kid in the tummy a couple times, causing the kid to squirm and giggle. They both hush as Cas shifts on the bed and Dean moves them off, carrying his kid through to the private bathroom, grumbling, “I guess it’s better than being likened to a kitten.”  

“De-De?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“If yous a lion and Cas a kitten, does that mean he’s always the girl in your relationship?”

Dean’s eyes go wide. Because seriously? It’s too early to get into a conversation with his little boy about guy-on-guy sex. Scratch that, it’s too early _ever_ to discuss it with his baby. But he knows he’s going to have to give Sam something, otherwise, the kid will never let the subject drop.

“Cas is very much a guy, Sammy.”

“What that mean?”

“Err … so, you sleep okay, buddy?” _Beautiful deflection, Dean_ , _keep it going._ “No nightmares?”

Sam huffs at not having his question answered, but allows the change in topic. “Think I was dreaming,” he says with faint recollection, fingers fiddling with a button on Dean’s shirt. “Maybe moving into nightmare territory, but then it kinda fizzled and-and… I think I sensed Cas was near. But I couldn’t feel you. That’s what woked me up. Wanted De-De. I gots scared and my skin felt all tingly and itchy until I was with you.”

_Well, that’s a nice dose of guilt for the morning_ , Dean thinks. It’s the third time in recent weeks Dean’s sixth-sense hasn’t alerted him to his kid having a nightmare, or potential nightmare. “I shoulda been there when you woke up,” he says by way of apology as he sets Sam down on the toilet.

“S’okay. Wasn’t a nightmare. ‘Sides, you can’t be everywhere.”

“Can try.”

“Even if you could use ‘em, your powers aren’t _that_ extraordinary,” Sam remarks before sticking his pacifier in his mouth.

Dean blinks, realising the kid had been holding it in the curled fingers of his casted arm this whole time. “That right, huh?”

Sam nods, then yawns, his pacifier tumbling free and Dean easily catches it. Sammy claps as if it is the most remarkable feat he has ever witnessed, then mumbles “owie” with a glare at his casted arm, which the kid holds to his chest as he pouts up at Dean.

“You’re okay,” Dean soothes, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll give you some medicine once we’ve got you washed up. You want a shower or just a quick wash?”

“Wash. Got no cover for this,” Sam gestures at his cast.

“That’s a good point. Remind me to grab some.”

“Okay, De-De.”

Dean offers a smile, even as his heart constricts whenever Sam calls him ‘De-De’. Because the way his little boy says it, makes it sound so much like ‘daddy’ that it is a painful reminder of a time when Sam _did_ call Dean by that moniker. When the boy had this weird belief that Dean was his daddy and not John. ‘De-De’ became a way to hide that fact from John the times the man was around. Because Sammy was adamant his truth of their world was accurate.

_"Sammy… you know John's your daddy, right?"_

_Sammy tilts his head to the side to look up at Dean. "What make him Sammy daddy?" he questions with all the seriousness, confusion and the curiosity of the child he is._

_Dean opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. He slowly deflates as each answer he comes up with that might satisfy his baby brother gets dumped by the wayside of his mind. Because where they stand at the moment, the only thing making John Sam's father is blood._

_And as Uncle Bobby once told them when Sammy curiously asked why Bobby is their uncle, “family don't end with blood, squirt.”_

_Doesn't start there either._

_Dean has long since stopped holding Sammy out for their dad to hold on his return from a long - or short - hunt. Or hinting at John that the kid needs a bottle or a diaper change or one on one playtime with their father. There was only so many times John could reject doing any of that for Sammy before Dean got a clue. Now he just doesn't even try._

_It isn't fair to Sammy._

_And Dean won’t stand for anything hurting his kid, not even their father._

_The feel of tiny hands squishing his cheeks together draws him out of his thoughts to the baby face of his little brother in front of his own, their noses practically touching. “No be sad, Daddy. You gotsa Sammy. An’ Sammy gotsa De-De-Daddy. ‘Kay?”_

_“You and me,” Dean swallows back the sharpness stinging his throat, “we’re a team, right, Sammy?”_

_Sammy nods his head vigorously up and down. “Abo… apsoo… yep-yep.”_

Dean shakes away the sudden burst of memory, trying not to think about how much he misses being called daddy by his little boy. Because it's stupid. After all, he's gone twenty years without hearing that moniker slip from Sam's mouth. He can’t even remember how or why that conversation between them came about. He only knows that he had wanted to reassure Sammy that John was his dad, too. But Sammy’s stubborn nature had been unwilling to budge. The hardest part of it was their dad didn’t seem to notice that Sam saw Dean that way and not John. At least, not until the kid reached a respectable age to hunt and then the man had demanded Sam’s total obedience to him.

Of course, John and Dean’s version of a respectable age for Sammy to be more intricately involved with the hunt outside of the research had also differed hugely. Unfortunately, Dean had also been ‘daddy’s little soldier’ and when it reached the point of little choice, he couldn’t argue and Sam was thrust in at the deep end. Literally. The kid’s first hunt a water wraith that preyed on teens. Yeah. Not only was Sam on the hunt, he was the fucking bait. Dean failing to recognise John’s true intentions for that hunt until it was too late. Until his kid had nearly drowned.

Dean startles as he feels water splash against his face. He blinks, scrubbing a hand down his wet face. He surveys his surroundings, quickly realising he had been so lost in thought, he walked through getting everything ready for Sammy’s wash on autopilot.

“You splashing me, kiddo?” he again pokes his kid in the tummy a couple times, Sammy giggling and splashing him again from the water-filled sink. Thankfully, the casted arm looks to have remained dry. “Alright, baby. Enough. Time for washing.”  

Sammy tilts his head to the side fractionally, so much like his younger self from Dean’s memory, that it kind of hurts, just a little. “Where’d you go?” the kid asks, dunking his hand into the water again to draw out the washcloth to give to Dean.

“Nowhere, buddy,” Dean offers a smile he’s sure Sam doesn’t believe, as he takes the cloth and runs the kid through a quick wash. He feels the kid’s assessing eyes on him the entire time, but Sam doesn’t say anything more until Dean starts drying him off.

“You sure, De? You’re not smelling toast?”

Dean shakes his head, getting the kid into some fresh briefs. “No, Sammy.”

“Okay. Um, we forgot the rest of my clothes.”

“We’re gonna have to put you back in your pj’s until the laundry’s done.”

Sam shrugs, unconcerned. “I likes them. They’re comfy. You like my jammies, De?”

“I think they’re awesome, bud. Cas made a good choice, huh?” Sam nods his agreement. “Alright,” Dean drapes the used towel over the heated towel rack once Sam is fully dressed. “You ready for some milk?”

“I loves milk!”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Shh, Monkey, little quieter.”

#

When Sam had proclaimed his love of milk, he hadn’t envisioned being fed from a sippy cup like a big baby. Although, he admittedly hadn’t put up a great deal of a fight. Actually, he didn’t put up _any_ fight, much to his chagrin. He had just let Dean manoeuvre him into position for feeding after tying a cloth napkin (that Sam is pretty sure is one Dean stole from the motel in Redfern Grove) around his neck as a stupid bib.

So, here he is, tucked safely into his big brother’s arms, his eyes closed as he loosely holds onto Dean’s wrist as he suckles his warm milk from his cuppy, Dean holding the cup for him. And, honestly, Sam’s intention had been to take just a couple mouthfuls after being given his medicine and ear-drops, but then he had tasted the vanilla and banana mixed with the milk and he was gone.

Though he did shoot a glare up at his brother over his cuppy, the man giving him a soft smirk in return. Dean knowing full well that flavour combination is Sam’s favourite.

His thumb absently brushing against Dean’s hand, Sam frowns when he brushes something that feels like fabric rather than skin. And he knows what that fabric is.

One of his brother’s bandanas.

But the only reason it would be wound around Dean’s hand is if he was injured. Sam hadn't seen any injuries earlier.

He opens his eyes and reaches up, patting Dean’s cheek lightly to draw his brother’s attention away from the text message he's answering. He squirms and Dean pulls the cuppy away, sitting him upright, the man’s large hand briskly rubbing and patting down Sam’s back. Sam opens his mouth to ask Dean about the bandana, but he instead involuntarily lets out a burp. A small residue of milk escapes his throat into his mouth and Sam cannot help but spit it out.

Because… yucky.

“There you go. Good boy,” Dean praises, using Sam's makeshift bib to wipe away the mess now running down Sam's chin.

Dean moves to tip him back to feed him again and Sam grabs hold of Dean’s hand, remembering he got his brother’s attention for a reason. A reason that didn’t involve Sam being burped like a frigging baby.

“Booboo?”

“It’s just a small cut, Tiger,” Dean assures. He had removed the bandana earlier after it stopped bleeding, not wanting Sammy to worry. But the small cut had split open and started bleeding when he was washing the kid. He had had little choice but to replace the thing.

Sam frowns, pursing his lips. “Why d’you have bandana if only a small cut?”

“Cause it was bleeding.”

“Needs stitches?”

“No. No stitches, Sammy. It’s tiny. I promise.”

Sam huffs and turns his head away, pulling away from his brother’s hold as he stands.

“Where you going?”

“To get a band-aid for booboo,” Sam states in that tone that says he would have thought that was more than obvious.

“Not needed, Sammy,” Dean counters, but Sam ignores him.

Seconds later, Sam nudges the med-kit over to Dean with his feet. “‘M not technically touching it,” he says, wiggling his fingers to prove his point.  

“Pretty sure I said you’re not allowed anywhere _near_ it, save for an emergency,” Dean corrects as he unzips the bag.

Sam shrugs, “Semantics.” He drops down to his knees in front of the bag. “We need band-aid’s.”

“We really don’t,” Dean contests, but still digs around for the baggie of band-aids he knows is in there somewhere. He sticks his tongue out at his brother when the kid bitch-face’s him, happy to hear the giggle it produces.

A huff leaves the kid half a minute later when Dean still hasn’t found the stupid bag. “They’re not that hard to find, Dean.”

“Well where are they then?” Dean questions exasperatedly, swapping out the thumb Sam’s stuck in his mouth for a pacifier.

Sam points to the outer front pocket and Dean remembers stuffing the bag in there the last time they had need of it. He rolls his eyes, yanking the zip open and of course, there it is. Pulling the bag out, Sam dives his hand in as much as he can when Dean holds it open for the kid. He allows it because they are freaking band-aids. The only harm they can do to his kid is getting stuck to his skin and maybe yank out a few hairs.

Sam bounces on his knees as he proudly displays the band-aid he pulls from the bag, while Dean refrains from groaning at the sight of the animal-print adorning it through the clear wrapping. Bought when band-aids were required and the gas station they pulled into only offered kid variations.

Suitable for Sammy, not so much Dean.

Not that Sammy’s currently caring about age-appropriate band-aids as he crawls up onto the bed and gives the thing to Cas. After shaking Cas awake, that is. Dean could have intervened on the former-angel’s behalf, of course, but it's time for his partner to get his ass up anyway.

“Little one? What's wrong?” The newly awoken former-angel scrubs at an eye with the heel of his hand, staring at Sam to Dean in confusion, before looking back to Sam, who spits his pacifier out onto Cas’ chest and supplies, “Dean’s got a booboo. You need to fix it, ‘kay?”

Cas’ gaze snaps straight to Dean. “You’re hurt?” He demands, immediately wide awake and out of the bed within a second.

Dean rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm around Sam when the kid runs to him and sits back on his lap. “It’s nothing. The tiniest cut going, Cas. Not even worth a band-aid,” he complains, only to hold his hand out to his partner at his baby brother’s withering gaze.

Cas refrains from smiling as he patches up the admittedly minuscule cut. To their little boy, however, any cut on his big brother is clearly a big deal.

“Is it really owie, De-De? How you get it?” Sam asks quietly, worriedly, leaning back against his brother’s shoulder, his thumb finding his mouth again.

“Nah, no owie,” Dean presses a kiss to the side of Sam’s head while pulling the kid’s thumb from his mouth. “As to how I got it,” he adds before Sammy can make a fuss about his extracted thumb, “there are some papers in the front pocket of your messenger bag. Go get ‘em,” Dean instructs.

Sam bounces off his lap and runs to the armchair the bag is sitting on, Cas staring at him in bemusement. “Entirely too much energy,” he grumbles through a yawn, slicing a hand roughly across his face.

Dean watches the kid retrieve the plastic sleeve he stored the papers in; the information regarding the added protection of the anti-possession tattoo. He knows this energy Sam has this morning won’t last. The kid is still exhausted. Now more so for having been put under anaesthesia yesterday. But Sam has spent the majority of his life pushing through exhaustion and injury, even when his insides were practically being held together by threads. There’s no way the kid will let it get the best of him. All Dean and Cas can do is make sure Sammy gets the rest he needs.  

Dean quirks a half-smile as Sammy snags his pacifier from the bedsheets on the way past, sticking it in his mouth. The boy returns to him and he accepts the kid back onto his lap; seemingly Sammy’s favourite place today. Not that Dean minds. And with his hand now back in his own possession, the animal-print band-aid sitting prominently on the edge of his palm, Dean retrieves the papers from within the sleeve and holds them in front of Sam.

“Go on. Have a read.” The kid’s concentration shifts from inspecting Dean's band-aid, straight onto the printouts. Leaving Sam to it, Dean looks to Cas, gesturing at the second to-go cup sitting on the table. “Your tea’s cold.”

“You made me tea?”

“Don’t act so surprised. Just ‘cause I hate the stuff, doesn’t mean I’m not generous enough to make it for ya.”

Cas smiles, taking a seat and testing the heat of his tea with a tentative sip. “It’s warm enough.” Rising slightly, he leans across the table to give Dean a morning kiss. “Thank you.”

“Whatever. I still think you're weird.”

“Says the nine AM beer drinker.”

“Shut up.”

It is not long before Dean’s speed-reader brother raises his head from the printouts, passing them off to Cas when the former-angel holds out a hand for them.

“So that’s why you got a booboo,” the kid states knowingly after removing his pacifier. Dean nods. “You really wanna do that?”

“Tom’s mixing it up as we speak. And on this… the decision is yours, Sammy. We’ll use the ink with my blood or we’ll use regular ink. Either way, you’re getting the tat done.”

“No passing ‘Go’ without that _gift_ , huh?”

“No leaving _here_ without that ‘gift’.”

“Cause _that_ decision’s not mine anymore?”

“Answer to that hasn't changed between yesterday and today, Sammy.”

Sam sighs. He knows as much as Dean does that the protection tattoo is necessary. But the closer they get to zero hour, when needles will be introduced to his skin continuously for however long it takes to complete the tattoo, the warier he becomes. “Any risk factors?” he questions.

“You think I’d even bring this up to you if there was any risk involved, kiddo?”

“No. But we’re talking about mixing blood with sigils. There’s power there. So, are we sure it’s not blood magic?”

“I’m sure, Sammy.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay?”

“ _Okay_.”

“Which one are we okaying, Sammy?”

“The former.” The kid gestures at the pages in Cas’ hands. “If you trust it, then so do I. But you should’ve woken me up so we could go to Tom together, Dean. So, he could mix up your ink.”

“Whoa. No, Sammy. I’m not getting my tat re-touched. At least not today,” Dean is quick to add when his kid’s face falls, knowing exactly what Sam is thinking. “We’re here only to get yours done. And Cas’. Mine will hold up for a long time yet.”

“How do we know you becoming a Knight of Hell didn’t cancel out its protection in you?”

Damn it’s annoying when Sammy makes such valid points, but … “Having demon blood in your system never cancelled out yours. We can only assume …”

“Exactly. _Assume_. You’ve been so gung-ho about getting me re-inked, you haven’t even thought about the fact you may no longer be protected from the very same thing, Dean.”

“We don’t know applying fresh ink won’t cancel it out either, Sammy,” Dean declares, before turning to his partner. “Cas, how long is it gonna take you to read that damn thing?”

Cas raises his head to frown at him. “We are talking about introducing your blood into our child’s–”

“Not a child,” Sam interjects and is ignored.

“–system by way of a protection sigil, Dean, so excuse me if I am being thorough in reading about it.”

“Alright, Papa bear. No need to lose your shit.”

“Dean,” Cas scolds, eyes flickering towards Sam.

“Right. Sorry. No ‘shitting’ in front of the kid.”

Sam snickers.

Cas glowers.

Dean smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at his partner. Cas breaks, a small smile lighting his features as he shakes his head. Dean nudges Sam in the side. “Go get my wallet.”

“I’m not a puppy to play fetch with,” Sam huffs.

“No? You sure? Cause them eyes say differently,” Dean pokes the kid in the ribs teasingly.

Sammy giggles and squirms, pushing at Dean’s hands. “Stop it. I’ll get your stupid wallet.”

“Awesome.”

Sam rolls his eyes but does as asked, returning a moment later to Dean’s lap, wallet in hand. Dean takes it with a nod of thanks. Sam yawns, picking up his cuppy and putting the soft spout in his mouth while leaning back against Dean, as Dean opens his wallet and withdraws some bills.

He holds them out to Sam.

Sam doesn’t take them. Just looks confused down at the ten dollar bills and one dollar bills that make up his forty dollar allowance. He removes his cuppy. “That’s meant to be going towards the broken ‘mometers.”

“Nope. I’m not gonna take your money, Sammy. Not when I knew the thermometers were gonna crap out before I even tested ‘em.”

Seeing the stubborn set to his brother’s jaw, Sam sighs. People who think Sam is the stubborn one clearly haven’t met his immovable brother when Dean brings out the stubborn. “Fine then,” Sam takes the money and starts counting out the bills into two separate piles on the table.

Three ten dollar bills and five one dollar in one pile. The remaining five one dollar bills in the other. Sam then plants a hand over the thirty-five dollars and slides it across the table towards Cas.

It takes a moment for Cas to understand Sam's intention, but then it hits and he sits up straighter. “Oh, no, little one. I cannot take that.”

Sam pushes the money further across the table towards the former-angel. “It's my allowance. I get to decide what I want to do with it. And I want you to have it.”

“Sam …”

“Look, Cas, the only reason I even accepted an allowance is ‘cause Dean wouldn't shut up about it,” he shoots his brother an apologetic look over his shoulder. Dean shrugs, he can't be mad over something he already knew. “It's not like I need it anyway, cause Dean always pays for everything. Even when I try to.”

“I’d’ve let you pay for crap if you'd taken more than a forty buck a week allowance, Sam.”

Sam snorts. “No, you wouldn't. You'd have still told me I didn’t get enough a week to be paying for anything.” The expression on Dean's face clearly says Sam's speaking the truth of it.

A truth Sam is more than aware of. Because after Stanford, when they were back on the road together, Sam knows his level of independence had been a shock to Dean’s big brother mentality. No matter how good Dean was at hiding it, once Sam had mostly climbed out of his grief, it had been easy to recognise.

And while neither of them seemed to be able to go back to the closeness they had shared before Sam went off to college, they had always been tactile with each other. Sitting on Dean’s lap and the hugs and comfort they shared, which was so easy and commonplace before (when no one else was around, save maybe Uncle Bobby), became the brushing of shoulders, or knees touching when they sat on a couch or bench or whatever, just a way of silently saying ‘I’m right here’.

The one thing Sam had, however, quickly learnt to just allow, was Dean paying for things. Dean earned the money (albeit by hustling or credit card scams back then) and there was this devastation in his big brother’s eyes whenever Sam would pay for their food, or gas, or a room. As if Dean thought it somehow lessened his position in Sam’s life.

Sam had undoubtedly made that thinking worse. Because Sam had rarely let Dean do anything else big brotherly (unless it involved saving his butt and patching up his booboos). Going as far as to contradict Dean when he would remind Sam he was the big brother and he was in charge; Sam unable to let it go because he was Mr Independent and they were equals. 

It was ludicrous just how contented Dean had been when Sam had turned around one day at a diner with his hand open. Dean had taken one look at the couple dollars (not enough to pay their check) that Sam had purposely only pulled out of his pocket, a further thirty remaining within, and had waved Sam off with an “I got this, Sammy”.

It had escalated from there with Dean paying for everything, just as he had when they were younger. And though Sam had felt as though he hadn’t been pulling his weight, and as embarrassing as it was to ask his big brother for cash or a credit card when Sam had a rare date, it made Sam absurdly happy to know Dean was happy doing that one small big brotherly duty.

Sam knows that is not normal behaviour for brothers. Kids, along with big and little brothers, grow into adults and pay their own way in the world. But he and Dean… they’re not normal brothers. At least not in the way they were raised. Because Sam’s big brother had basically raised himself, while also having to be a parent to Sam. Small shoulders taking up a heavy mantle that adults often collapse under the weight of.

And Cas having a share in the money is a minuscule concern in the grand scheme. But Sam knows Dean has been worrying about how to split the weekly budget of the allowance account for a while now. The least Sam can do is take the weight of that from Dean’s shoulders for the time being. 

Sam pushes the money further across the table. “Take the money, Cas. Please.”

Cas looks to Dean, who silently nods his accord with Sam, and Cas reaches out, finally retrieving the money from the table. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam nods, scrubbing at an eye as he rests back against Dean. “‘Sides, we’re gonna rework the books to get you an allowance that’s all your own, Cas. Then we won’t have to worry you don’t have any money.”

Dean sighs softly. Any cash flow issues they have are _not_ Sammy’s concern or responsibility. And he wants to tell his kid that, but he knows that would be a waste of breath. Sam will worry anyway. Handing over the majority of his allowance is proof enough of that. As is the look in Sam’s eyes right now, telling Dean to remove him completely from the equation for allowance. Dean shakes his head minutely. He still can’t do that. Just as he couldn’t when he figured out the weekly rates. When the kid told him, he didn’t want anything if Dean wasn’t receiving more on a weekly basis.

And it might only be a couple bucks Sam gets in the reworking because he's right, Dean does pay for everything when they are outside the bunker. An ingrained habit leftover from years of being in charge of scrimping and saving what little money they had just to pay for food or accommodations when John wasn't around. And besides, Sammy’s just a baby, no different to he was back then, and babies don't pay for crap.

He sighs again and rises with Sam still in his arms, deciding to deal with that once they get back to the bunker. He sits the kid down on his vacated chair. “Stay here, Sammy. Cas and I just need to go outside for a minute.” Dean picks up the kid’s sippy cup. “Finish your milk.” Sam’s forehead is creased into a frown but he takes his cup. “Cas.” Dean holds the guest suite’s door open for his confused partner to pass by before stepping out into the hallway himself, pulling the door closed behind them.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean responds quietly as not to be overheard by his brother behind the closed door. “We just got some business to take care of. I need to know if you wanna be elsewhere for it.”

His partner stares at him, brow furrowed in concentration but clear understanding in his eyes as to what Dean’s referring to. His gaze is focused over Dean’s shoulder, lips parting several times, but no words come forth. Then Cas’ blue eyes meet his. “He disobeyed me, too, yes?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then …” Cas takes a breath, “… however much I wish not to see Sam hurting, physically or emotionally, he needs to know I stand firm with you on his course of punishment.”

“Honestly, Cas,” Dean rests his ass against a hall table behind him, “you should be dishing out a spanking, too. But… I just can’t go there yet.” Hell, Dean’s not sure he will ever be ready to give Cas permission to physically discipline Sam. It is one thing for Dean to do it, but another entirely to allow someone else to. Even his partner. “You understand that, right?”

“Dean, at this early juncture of our relationship, for all of us, I would not expect to be granted such a position in Sam’s life by you. It is one thing for me to be present, for Sam to see that I stand with you on his punishment, another entirely for me to step over that line. However…” Cas continues hesitantly, “… I have previously told Sam I would spank him if it called for it and you were not there. I stand by that also, and will face your displeasure.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in dissatisfaction at hearing that. “I can’t deny that I’d be pissed, man.” In fact, Dean’s pretty sure he’ll be furious if Cas spanks his kid without him having granted permission first, partner or not. “What’d Sam have to say about it?”

“Outwardly, nothing at all. I am sure, however, that he believes you will never give permission.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean replies, slipping his arms around Cas’ waist when the other man moves closer to him, “‘cause I’ve never given it.”

Cas tilts his head back slightly to better look him in the eyes, “Not even to Bobby?”

Dean shakes his head. “Bobby was different. He was an uncle to us, he knew if he needed to swat Sam’s butt, he just did, but nothing more than a couple smacks. Never a full spanking.” It was not something he and Bobby ever had need to discuss either, just a silent understanding on both their parts. And Bobby had known that as much as he was their uncle and father-figure, Dean was always in charge of Sam.  

“You won’t be too hard on him, will you?” Cas questions quietly.

Dean smiles lightly at the concern shining from the blue eyes before him. It lightens his heart to know Cas does care so much for Sam, might even love the kid like his own. Cas sure seems to see Sam as _their_ child lately, so maybe they’re not so far off from that permission being given as Dean thinks.

“Only as hard as I need to be,” he replies just as quietly. “This wasn’t just a minor infraction, Cas. Sam disobeyed us in regards to his safety. He disobeyed _me_. He knows the consequences of that. And I get you don’t wanna see him hurting, I never do either, but being a part of this family also means making sure Sammy knows his boundaries and disciplining him when he crosses or blatantly steps over those boundaries.” Dean sighs, resting his forehead against Cas’. Of all his numerous responsibilities, punishing Sam is the hardest thing he ever has to do. And it will soon become Cas’ as well once that permission has been laid down.

“He’s a good boy, Dean.”

Cas doesn’t need to remind Dean of that. He has never stopped knowing that. Even in the worst times, when Sam got lost along the way, the kid never stopped being fundamentally good. He never stops being _good_ when he’s being naughty. Dean blinks, closing his eyes and pressing into the soft lips trying to reassure him. He hears a door open, Sam undoubtedly having grown impatient, seen as they have taken longer than Dean intended.

“Ahh! My eyes!” the kid squeals, slamming the door closed again.

Dean grins, slowly pulling back away from Cas. “We should …” he tips his head towards the room, half-smile on his lips. “Before our little brat tries to gouge his eyes out.” Cas snorts. Dean presses one last kiss to his lips before pulling back. 

The two of them re-enter the guest suite to see Sam sprawled over the sofa bed, cast resting heavily over his eyes. He immediately holds up his good arm upon their entrance, his toy dinosaur held within his hand.

“You blinded Littlefoot!” the kid accuses. “How can you be so cruel?”

Dean pounces on the kid, mindful of the broken arm, fingers finding ticklish spots, Sammy immediately squirming and giggling. Cas chuckles, content just to watch them as the tickling turns to wrestling. It ends quickly with Dean lying on his back and Sam lying on top of him, pinning him down and holding Littlefoot in front of Dean’s now cross-eyed eyes.

“You still blinded him. Whatcha gonna do ‘bout that, De?”

Dean leans up and places two kisses to the little toy’s eyes. Or the approximation of the toy’s eyes. The thing’s head is about the size of Dean’s thumbnail. “All better?” He smiles lightly as Sammy surveys his toy seriously.

The kid shakes his head and holds the toy up to Cas, demanding, “Kiss.”

Cas kneels down on the sofa bed, dropping two quick kisses upon the toy as well. “Is he feeling better now?”

Sam grins and nods, snuggling the toy against him before resting his head down on Dean’s chest, thumb finding his mouth. Cas stands, retrieving the boy’s pacifier from the table and swaps it out with the thumb. 

“You going to sleep, bud?” Dean questions, rubbing a hand over the kid’s back.

Sam raises his head off his chest to shake it vigorously. “No s’eep,” he lisps around his pacifier, pushing himself up to sitting.

“If you’re not gonna sleep, then I’m gonna get our laundry,” Dean says, pushing himself back up to standing. “When I get back we’re gonna talk, Sammy.”

Sam’s gut twists. He has a feeling they have reached the moment that is going to be unpleasant for his bottom. He drops himself back down onto the sofa bed and buries his head against a pillow. “Comfy. I s’eep now.”

Dean snorts and pats the upturned rump. “Nice try, buddy. But we _are_ gonna talk. You two play nice.”

“We are not enemies, Dean.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean comments on the way out the door.

Cas shakes his head at his incorrigible partner, before his eyes land on Sam. “Little one, will you be okay here if I take a shower?”

Sam sighs, turning over onto his back and pulling his dam-ding out of his mouth. “Yeah, Cas, I can look after myself for ten damn minutes.”

“There is no need for that tone, Samuel Dean. I am merely asking you a question.” Sam ducks his chin to his chest, knowing he was in the wrong by snapping and quietly apologises. “Thank you. The door will be unlocked if you need me or need the potty.”

Sam flushes slightly at that word coming from the former-angel’s mouth, no matter the number of times recently Cas has said it. “I know we have a rule about keeping doors unlocked, Cas, but if it makes you uncomfortable …”

“It does not make me uncomfortable, Sam. I believe in your brother’s rule. And besides,” Cas brushes some hair behind Sam’s ear, “you are our little one. We are a family, and I believe it is a natural part of being family.”

“Even if you and Dean are in the shower together being yucky?”

Cas smiles. “What exactly would this ‘yucky’ entail, young man?”

Sam feels his face rapidly heat, not expecting Cas to turn it around on him, but just get the notion of what he was talking about. And it's not fair that he's getting embarrassed about sex. He has spent a good few years now enjoying it, admittedly not to the extent of his brother, but experiencing it nonetheless. He shouldn't be blushing like some innocent virg … Sam’s thoughts abruptly slam to a halt with the memory of what Dean divulged to him recently.

“Hey, Cas?” The former-angel, who is collecting his toiletries and clothing together for his shower glances at Sam, who has yet to get up from the sofa bed. “Can an angel reverse a person’s virginity? Like, completely erase the fact their body ever had, err, sex?”

Cas’ hands still as he frowns in thought. “It is not something I am familiar with.”

“But didn’t you do something like that when you saved Dean from Hell? Healed him up so shiny and new that he was, err …” Sam chuckles with embarrassment, hand rubbing the back of his neck, “… re-hymenated, as he liked to put it.”

“I do not think _anybody_ could reverse the status of your brother’s virginity, Sam,” Cas scoffs. “Probably not even my father.” Cas’ head tilts to the side, a clear sign of his confusion. “I was unaware of the existence of a hymen in the male anatomy.”  

“There isn’t one. So, Dean didn’t become a virgin again?”

“Not that I am aware of. At least not to the true scale _you_ have. And you think it was Gadreel?”

Sam feels the flush on his skin deepen even more. He had known Cas was aware Sam is a virgin again because Dean had told him so. The same time Dean revealed the knowledge that when he was a demon, Dean could smell Sam’s reinstated virginity. Even likened it to the sweet scent of a freaking candy store.

And, oh crap. If a demon Dean could smell that, can every last fucking demon out there as well? Or is that something only Knights of Hell can do? Sam mentally adds it to their growing list of research.

“Sam?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Gadreel. Err, I dunno. It made sense to me because he was possessing me at the time I made that born-again virgin pledge to Vespa. But …” Sam shrugs.

“I suppose it is plausible Gadreel’s grace took your pledge as one to God and made it so.”

“But you don't know for sure?”

Cas shakes his head. “I am aware a person’s status of virginity lies within their blood. That scent Dean explained to you.” Sam nods his understanding. “It dissipates upon a body’s first experience of sexual intercourse.” The flush in Sam’s cheeks deepens. “I doubt, aside from perhaps my father reappearing, that you will ever truly know, Sam. It should not be something you allow yourself undue concern about.”

“Why?”

Cas’ raises an eyebrow. “Do I need to tell you what your brother will do if someone touches you sexually?” _Or what I will do_ , he silently adds, thinking of what he did to Richard White mere hours earlier. And that piece of filth had not even laid a hand on his child.  

Sam sighs, rubbing at an eye, remembering Dean’s reaction to Sam just accidentally landing on a porn channel. “Dean’s never cared before, Cas. Hell, he’s the one that has pushed me to hook up on occasion. Whatever this sudden aversion is, whether it’s because I’m a virgin again or because of the spell or him thinking I’m too _young_ of all things, he needs to get over it.”

“That is highly unlikely to happen anytime soon, little one.”

Sam opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s meant to say in response to that, so it is just as well that Cas has already turned back to the bed to pick up his belongings. He can barely believe they have reached the point that Dean might blow a gasket if Sam were to go out and hook up. Dean Winchester. A man who is all for getting laid. Sam shakes his head and raises an eyebrow when Cas holds up the money Sam gave him.

“Are you sure about this, little one?”

Sam frowns. He thought he had plainly made his case, even Dean had backed him up, but Cas is still clearly uncertain. “Yeah, Cas, I’m more than sure. Believe me, if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be holding that money. I don’t need much.”

Cas’s blue eyes narrow slightly as he surveys Sam. He nods sharply a moment later, finding some understanding from Sam’s eyes. “Your brother and I will do our best to ensure you do get what you need, little one. And I’m sure you can always ask for something you want.”

“I know. It’s just difficult going from having barely anything, to knowing if I asked for something I wanted, I might actually get it. Does that make sense?”

“You’re worried about taking advantage of the monetary situation you and your brother have gained through the Men of Letters. For things, you believe to be frivolous because they are what you want, but not necessarily need, knowing Dean has budgeted the accounts.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam admits, embarrassed that he seems to have become such an open book.

“You should talk to your brother about this, Sam,” Cas advises, slipping the gifted notes beneath his phone on the nightstand. “You may be able to put each other’s minds at ease.”

Sam nods, but Cas is already headed down the bathroom hallway. Releasing a sigh, he rises and crosses to the window, pulling the blind open so he can look out into the darkened woods beyond. He can see very little; more of his reflection because of the lighting in the suite than he can of the woods. But he doesn’t mind. It is one thing he misses when they are in the bunker. The ability to look out of a window and see what the world is like at any given moment; just knowing what the weather is like without having to step outside or use an app.

Blowing out another sigh, he drops down onto the window seat, slipping his dam-ding passed his lips to suckle on as he leans back against the wall, thoughts swirling around his mind.

 


	20. Chapter Eighteen Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and a paying of the piper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has to go out to Deadmockingbirds, because she has waited ever so patiently for it. Mock, I really hope it lives up to expectation :)

**Chapter 18: Part Two**

 

Leaning his shoulder against the doorframe of the guest suite’s open doorway, Dean silently watches his baby brother sitting on the room’s window seat, body twisted towards the window and staring out into the darkened woods, lost in thought.

The hem of the Iron Man pyjama shirt is being held against Sammy's cheek in lieu of a comfort blanket, the fingers of his casted arm fidgeting with said hem, both a nervous habit and a subconscious one. Today a bit of both. The other hand holds Littlefoot, Sammy absently walking the small stuffed dinosaur over his thigh. The dirty makeshift bib is still tied around the kid’s neck and Dean makes a mental note to invest in some proper bibs when the hunt for Rowena is done and over with for good.

And despite having woken only a short while ago, the kid’s drooping eyelids are a clear indication Sammy is in desperate need of a nap. And if he doesn't sleep after his spanking, Dean's going to have to put the kid down for a nap mid-morning without fail. Maybe even before then. And he really wants to say the hell with it and forego this punishment, but he knows full well it won't benefit anyone, but especially not Sam.

“Sammy.”

The kid startles, dropping his shirt from his hold, while Littlefoot is immediately enclosed within the kid’s fist as if Sammy thinks he needs to hide it. Dean turns away to give him a moment, dumping out Sam’s duffle full of their clean laundry onto the sofa bed. He hears and feels Sam join him.

“Cas in the shower?” Dean finds a pair of his kid’s softest jeans, a tee and a shirt for Sammy to put on once they’re done with their talk. He sees his kid nod to his question as he stands to drape the clothing over the back of the chair he earlier vacated.

Turning back to Sam, he turns the kid around so he can get at the knot at the nape of the boy’s neck to remove the bib. “Can I have your dam-ding, buddy?” Dean holds out a hand for it, Sam staring down at it in confusion and then meets his eyes. “Just for a little while,” he assures.

Sam slowly removes the pacifier from between his lips and places it on Dean's palm, though he doesn't release it. “I'll get it back?” He queries, worrying his bottom lip.

“Of course, Sammy. It is yours.”

Smiling his happiness at knowing his dam-ding is not being confiscated, Sam finally releases his hold. Dean places both the pacifier and dirty napkin on top of a dresser before he seats himself on the foot of the bed.

Sam must read something in his expression as to what’s coming next, because Dean has to hide his amusement as the kid swiftly plants his ass on the first chair he comes across (the one Dean just placed the clothing on). The move fondly reminding Dean of when Sammy was smaller and thought if Dean couldn’t see his butt, Dean couldn’t swat his butt. The theory never did pan out for the kid, of course, but Sammy would give it a good try nonetheless.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s get this over with.” Dean pats his thigh. “Come here.”

“Oh, no, I'm okay. I’m good doing research from right here, thanks,” Sam deliberately keeps his eyes off his brother. That is until the hand lands atop the laptop he was intending to open, preventing the move while he snaps startled eyes up to his brother.

When did Dean even move?

Dean tugs the laptop out of Sam’s grasp, setting it off to the side before resting his hands on the small table so he can lean down closer to the kid. “You know full well I’m not talking about research right now, Sam.”

Sam blinks at him, “I-I can’t think of any other pertinent conversation we should be having, Dean.”

Dean leans in even closer. “Do not try and play me for an idiot, Samuel. You knew full well when you woke up this morning this conversation was on the card for today.”

Sam gulps, knowing he's been caught out. “Oh,” and oh god, his voice did not just frigging squeak, did it? “ _That_ conversation.”

“Yeah. _That_ one. The one that deals with your naughtiness yesterday.”

Sam flushes. There’s that word again. It really should be banned from every damn language in the history of languages. “We're just gonna talk now, though, right? You're not actually gonna… you know, _here_.” Sam waves a hand around, indicating their surroundings.

It is bad enough when it happens in a flimsy-walled motel, let alone here, in the home of almost strangers. And he feels his face heat even further with the mortification of his earlier behaviour in the Jeffries’ kitchen.

It has been so long since he’s encountered Kara or any of the Jeffries’ for Sam to feel completely comfortable around them on a normal basis. Let alone when he… regresses. Or whatever the hell it is that has been happening to him lately. He had wanted Dean. He knows that. He also knows his focus can become single-minded when he wants his brother; no one gets in his way. 

Not even himself apparently. Especially when that little boy inside of him rears its ugly head, wanting things Sam long ago gave up. And if acceptance of that kid means Sam thoroughly embarrassing himself in front of strangers, maybe it’s time to squash that brat once and for all.

“No one’s gonna hear anything, Sammy,” Dean says, clearly trying to appease Sam’s embarrassment, but it is of little comfort because Sam doesn’t want to face a spanking, to begin with. Here or anywhere. “They're on the other side of the house.”

“Is Cas mad about something?” Sam quickly interjects, with a glance at the hallway leading to the bathroom and hoping to stall as long as possible. Their conversation had gone fairly well, but Sam had sensed an underlying current of tension from the former-angel.

“Deflection isn’t gonna change the outcome here, Sam. And no, Cas isn’t mad. He’s still working through crap.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Sam questions instantly alarmed.

Dean levels the kid with an appraising stare. One that makes Sam squirm. “Sam,” Dean eventually says, “you do get yesterday could’ve gone down like a frigging boat in a shit storm, right?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m aware of that,” Sam says quietly, knowing how wrong everything could have gone yesterday. His actions had been the catalyst. But knowing this spanking is warranted doesn’t mean he can easily accept it. Which is probably why his mouth blurts, “But my bottom’s hurt.”

Dean’s eyes flash with something Sam can’t read before the man frowns, concerned. “Well, why didn’t you say something before now?” He questions as he rises.

Sam cannot deny it was a squeak that left his mouth this time as he’s picked up in Dean’s strong arms, the man easily manhandling him and holding him over just one arm. And isn’t that just irritating? Six-foot-fucking-four and he’s hanging over his _shorter_ brother’s freaking arm, feet dangling off the floor as if he were nothing more than a baby about to be burped again or something!

“Dean!” He screeches, legs kicking as he tries to get out of the hold. “What're you doing?” He knows he’s gonna be spanked, but surely not like this?

“Quit your squirming. I just need to check if salve is required to ease any bruising.”

Fuck. No. Shit. _I’m such an idiot._ “Dean, no …” Sam blurts, throwing a hand back to stop his pants being pulled down, but Dean is too quick and has his pants down beneath his butt in a mere second.

Dean stares down at what he already knew would be the unblemished skin of his baby brother’s behind. He had seen it yesterday on several occasions, had washed it _very_ recently, and knew no bruising or injury would be found there. This is just another lesson that needs to be learned today and Dean wastes no time delivering two hard swats to his brother’s upturned ass.

Sam yelps, hand flying back to cover his bottom. “What’d you do that for?” He snaps out his complaint, scrambling to pull up his pants when Dean releases him.  

“Watch your tone,” Dean scolds firmly. “And you really want me to tell you what those swats were for, Sam? Because I’m pretty sure you can tell me that yourself. Right now, in fact.” Sam moves to duck his head down to escape those stern green eyes, but his chin is grasped before he gets far. “Well?”

“Ly …” Sam clears his throat, “… lying.”

“And what do I think about you lying to me, Sam?”

Sam swallows, dropping back down onto the chair behind him, more than aware of what Dean thinks about that from his past misdeeds, and wishing more than ever that he hadn’t said a thing. “You, err, don’t appreciate it.”

Dean snorts humourlessly. “That’s one way to put it.”

Sam shakes his head, anger building inside of him. “Guess what, Dean? I don’t appreciate it either! And what you and Cas did, that’s lying, too!”

Dean plants his ass back on the bed, elbows resting on his knees. “Sam, you need to let that go, because it is _not_ the same and you know it. Yes, I’m keeping the truth from you of what that guy did. I get that. But I wasn’t lying when I told you the guy’s an a-hole. Worse than that even. Protecting someone from the truth is very different to outright lying and I won’t go into the details with you, nor is there a need to. It’s dealt with.”  

“So, it _was_ me,” Sam says, voicing what he hadn’t wanted to since witnessing Cas smash that guy’s face into a doorframe. He had much proffered to think the guy had said something towards Dean, offending Cas, then Cas going bat-shit crazy defending Sam. But Dean’s words had just proved otherwise. “Cas. You. You were protecting _me_.”

Dean sighs. He hadn’t wanted his kid to know even that much, but now it has been voiced, Dean can’t turn around and lie to the kid. Not when he is expecting truth from Sam. “Yeah. Cas witnessed something to do with you that set him off.”

“But you’re still not gonna tell me what it was.”

“Not ever, if I can help it.”

Sam sighs. He has a fair idea what might have happened and he doesn’t want to think about it either. “Okay. I know it’s never a good idea to lie to you …”

“I'm glad to hear that. Because from here on out, lying to me or Cas _will_ come with consequences, Sam. Consequences that will fit the severity of the lie. From timeout to a full spanking with five nights of bedtime spankings.”

Sam’s eyes are wide. Bedtime spankings? Dean has never implemented bedtime spankings. Receiving a full spanking from his brother is bad enough. But _five_ more spankings on top of that? He’d never sit down again if he earned himself that level of punishment. He swallows and clears his throat.

“Is there gonna be _anything_ I can do that won’t come with Dean Winchester’s full spectrum of little brother punishment, Dean?”

“Sure,” Dean shrugs, a light smile gracing his features. “Behaving.”

Sam refrains from rolling his eyes. “Guess I shoulda seen that one coming.”  

“Look, kiddo, this isn’t new territory. You’ve always had rules to abide by and consequences to face when you break ‘em.”

“You get that in most family’s kids grow up and out of rules and punishment, right, Dean?”

“You ever known me to give a damn about what goes on in other families, Sam?”

Sam sighs and shakes his head. Plenty of hunts over the years have called for their involvement with other families. But dealing with families on hunts is an entirely different kettle of fish to the inner workings of a family. And where that is concerned, Dean doesn’t look beyond their own.

“Does it help any if I say I’m sorry.”

“I already know that, Sam,” Dean acknowledges. “But you still need to face the consequences of your actions.”

Sam’s gaze snaps to Cas emerging from the bathroom hallway. The former-angel stops, taking them both in.

“Now?” Cas directs at Dean.

“Yes, now. I’m not letting this linger any further. We both know what happened last time.”

Sam does duck his head down this time, trying not to cringe at the remembered behaviour and tantrums he had thrown when Dean hadn’t spanked him for taking those pills. All because Sam doesn’t know how to deal with the consequences Dean laid out a long time ago being turned upside down. Of course, his actions following that spanking hadn't helped him any …

_“That was not the smartest thing you could have done, Sam,” Cas scolds quietly, standing just inside the bathroom doorway._

_Sam ignores him, continuing to mop up the flooded bathroom floor, protective rubber boots up to his knees shielding him from the sewage water that had overflowed. He sniffles and has to still to swipe a hand under his nose, the mop coming to a stop with him. He reaches behind him to rub at his bottom which is still on fire from Dean’s punishment._

_Again, he has to ask himself where he gets these stupid ideas from. He had felt Dean’s guilt still eating away at him after disciplining Sam for throwing a tantrum because of his newly reinstated bedtime. So, Sam may have, accidentally on purpose, stuffed three or four rolls of toilet paper down the central toilet (Dean’s toilet) overflowing the system and flooding the bathroom._

_Sam’s butt had been roasted the moment Dean figured out it was him, which unfortunately didn’t take a great deal of deduction._

_“But then again,” Cas continues, “it is not the first time recently that you have goaded your brother into spanking you to help him overcome his guilt. Is it, Sam?”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam responds defensively._

_“No?” Cas continues to stare at him, stepping further into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. “We both know what Dean did under the influence of the Mark of Cain. And what he threatened to do to you, Sam. And we know it weighs heavily on him, though he will never say it. He didn’t spank you when he found out about your taking of those painkillers …”_

_“And with good reason!” Sam interrupts. “If you haven’t noticed I’m way past the age to be getting my butt spanked still, Cas. Dean shouldn’t do it.”_

_“But it is what you had been expecting from your brother during that conversation. Instead, he simply grounded you and placed several more rules upon you, including your bedtime.” Sam scowls at its mention. “Which was your perfect opportunity to see if Dean would actually enforce that bedtime after he told you the set time would be remaining. Oh, I believe your temper tantrum that day was genuine, but you had been pushing and pushing your brother beforehand. Then you received what you wanted.”_

_Sam’s face twists into a glare as he scoffs, “I didn’t want Dean to spank me, Cas!” _

_“But you did, Sam. Because you feared Dean had lost his nerve. And you needed a spanking as much as he needed to hand your behind to you. It is your stability.”_

_Sam swallows and shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous.”_

_Except he knows it isn’t. Sam knows that. He just hates to admit it._

_Because what kind of person admits to something like that? That they need the consistency and stability of knowing when they do something warranting a punishment, then punishment is dished out without fail. To know you have consequences to face. And a spanking had always been one of those consequences, and such a huge part of Sam’s very existence; a punishment that he knows works on him beyond anything else because he hates it so much._

_Something Dean is more than aware of, too; it is the very reason the wooden spoon and hairbrush reside over Dean’s desk in the library, out in the open where Sam can see them when he is in there. It is not a humiliation tactic, but a simple and silent reminder to ensure Sam sits up and thinks about the consequences before he does something stupid._

_Of course, it hasn’t always worked (mopping up a flooded bathroom floor is proof enough of that) because Sam does have a stubborn streak the size of Texas. Which is why he has always needed those consequences; the consistency and stability from his brother, the only person in his life to ever give it to him. To fear Dean being unable to give him that… yeah, Sam goaded Dean into dishing out that first spanking after the mark’s removal._

_But for as much as Sam had done it for his own sake, he had doubly done it for Dean’s._

_Because no matter how much Sam has distanced himself from believing Dean no longer has any right to be in charge of him over the past few years, that they are equals, that Dean is letting him be a grown up … it’s all complete horse-shit._

_That had become highly apparent the longer the mark had resided on Dean’s arm. The fact Dean had been placating Sam into believing they were equals, for years now, was blown wide open. And Sam had wanted to be pissed, but the fear he was losing his brother was far stronger. For the longer the Mark was present, the more Dean descended into that uncontrollable rage that had propelled him into beating on Sam with his fists. Threatening to slice Sam’s butt to ribbons with a switch._

_Discipline that would have turned into abuse._

_And Dean had remembered all too well. The man stepping back when it came time again to discipline Sam. Because for someone like Dean, who prides himself on being able to dish out the necessary punishment under supreme control of his temper, Sam knows Dean had feared another loss of control if he even thought of spanking Sam again. And worst of all that he no longer had any right to do so._

_But Sam now knows he is the one person Dean does have every right to spank, whether he’s a grown up or not._

_They watch each other’s backs. They protect each other. But at the end of the day when they come home to the bunker at the close of a case Sam is still Dean’s baby brother. That is his place. And Sam had set Dean back on the road to being in charge, to being back in control by inciting a spanking out of the man._

_It’s where Dean thrives._

_And being Dean’s baby brother is where Sam thrives._

_He just doesn’t always realise it without a kick in the butt._

_“You’ve learnt to observe too much, Cas,” Sam grouses, seeing the perceptiveness in those blue eyes staring at him._

_“Perhaps so. But I have found it to be quite necessary when around stubborn Winchesters’.”_

_“Yeah. I guess you have,” Sam acknowledges the truth of that. Cas turns to go when Sam calls out to him. Cas turns back, raising a questioning eyebrow. Sam clears his throat, not sure why he wants the answer to this, but feeling the need to ask anyway. “Would you …?”_

_“Spank you?”_

_Sam nods jerkily._

_“Yes, Sam. With or without your brother’s permission, I would spank you if I thought it necessary.”_

“Is Cas gonna spank me too?” Sam questions quietly, the memory of that conversation fluttering away.

“He should.” Dean glances at Cas now occupying the closest chair at the table, before looking back to Sam. “But no. Cas doesn’t yet have my permission to spank you.”

“Well good. And you should just go ahead and redact the permission you gave yourself somewhere along the line, too, Dean,” Sam argues, unable to stop himself. “Nobody should be spanking me. I’m thirty-”

“-two years old. Strangely enough, I haven’t forgotten that little detail, Sam. So, quit thinking you need to remind me of it.”

“Yeah, well, from where I’m sitting it sure seems like you’re forgetting that little detail, Dean.”

“Funny. Cause from where I’m sitting right now, all I’m seeing is a brat.”

“I’m not a brat!” Sam shouts, just as annoyed by being called a brat as he is by Dean’s irritating calm; voice never rising, never going beyond freaking calm, his affirmation not quite withstanding when his sock-clad foot rises and stamps back down on the carpeted floor.

“You sure are behaving like one, Sam. Because you seem to be labouring under the opinion you don’t deserve this spanking …”

Sam stills. “I didn’t say that,” he murmurs.

“No? So, you understand that disobeying me will guarantee you a trip over my knee every time? Because that’s what you did yesterday morning, Sam. When you walked out that motel door by yourself and took yourself into town, you disobeyed me and you disobeyed Cas.”

Sam shifts his shoulders …

“Don’t you dare shrug at me, Samuel.”

… and gives a shrug.

Dean rises to his feet, intent on swatting his kid’s backside again when a hand clamps down on his left shoulder.

“What is it called when two people switch roles?” Cas questions, without concern of his partner’s narrow-eyed gaze upon him. He had been quietly observing the pair thoughtfully for the past few minutes and feels it now appropriate to point out an alternative view to Sam. Of course, the brothers are now staring at him as if he has lost his mind, but Cas perseveres. “Well?” he demands.

“Err, you mean like role reversal?”

“Yes. Thank you, little one. So, we are on a hunt …”

“Excuse me?” Dean demands, confused. “What does this …”

Cas glares his partner into silence, the other man rolling his eyes before giving a silent ‘have at it’ wave of his hand. “We are on a hunt,” Cas says more firmly this time. “Something is after Dean …”

“We’d find it and kill it,” Sam interrupts matter-of-factly.

“True. But in the meantime, you have told Dean he would be an idiot to go anywhere alone …”

“And he’d say ‘screw you, Sam’,” Sam interrupts again, knowingly smug.

“Again true,” Cas allows because the look on Dean’s face is saying just that. “May I reach the point I am trying to make, please?”

Sam gestures his hand for Cas to continue.

“If Dean did what you did yesterday after being told not to go anywhere alone, would he be deserving of punishment?”

“I wouldn’t spank Dean!” Sam responds aghast. As if the very thought alone is an alien concept.

Dean refrains from chuckling. Because to Sammy, the thought of Dean getting a spanking probably is an alien concept, even though it did happen when he was a kid. But the kid is also right in that he would never spank Dean. That is not how their roles work.

“No,” Cas agrees. “But that is not the point I am trying to make here, Sam. Would Dean be deserving of punishment for disobeying an order to keep him safe, regardless of his age?”

“Yes,” Sam responds without preamble. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know what you’re both saying, okay. And I know I deserve this spanking, but you don’t get it. Neither of you does.”

“What aren’t we getting, Sam?”

“That your worldview seems to have shifted into ‘Sam’s not grown up enough to think for himself or make decisions for himself or know when its suitable for him to go out by himself’. You said it yourself, Dean, before the spell was even cast, or at least the Mark said it for you. It revealed your truths of how much I’m still a kid in your eyes …”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna apologise for that truth, Sam,” Dean interrupts. “To me, you _are_ just a kid. And to ask me to see you otherwise is like asking me to live without limbs. I don’t know how to do that.”

“But that’s my point. I’m a kid in _your_ eyes. Not _mine_. I’m a grown up. I can make decisions for myself. If I want to go out, I should be able to go out without asking permission. If I want a coffee or …”

“Coffee, huh?”

“I-I didn't mean that I had a coffee. Just that I'm gonna whenever I want, cause-cause I'm all grown. I just… I, um, that's irrelevant to this conversation… What was I saying?”

“You were availing us with the fantastic tale of how you are all grown up now, and able to make decisions by yourself.”

“Right. Yeah,” Sam clears his throat. “I'm a big boy, I mean a grown up now …”

“You’re quite right, Sam. You are physically grown. Mentally, however …”

“Cas, I had a four-point-oh GPA in college,” Sam defends, “I'm not …”

“We’re not denying your intelligence, kiddo,” Dean corrects. “But that doesn't speak for your emotional and mental age, Sam. And in those areas, you're young. _Very_ young. Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of,” Dean says upon the flush flaring across Sam’s cheeks. “You can’t help still being a kiddo, Sammy. It’s just part of who you are.”

“Coffee’s part of who I am, too, you know,” Sam remarks, really wanting to ignore the rest of Dean's words.

“Back to the coffee again. Something you wanna tell us, Sam?”

“What? No, no, I'm just being hypothetical.” Sam swallows, tries not to shift because the look in his brother’s eyes tells him plain as day that he knows Sam had a coffee whilst out of Dean’s sight yesterday. He can only hope the man lets it go.

Which, as it turns out only a second later, is a futile hope.

“So, we have a discussion about no lying, not even five minutes ago, and already you’re lying to me again.”

“Dammit, Dean,” Sam snaps, unable to stop himself. “It’s my body. Shouldn’t I be the one who gets to decide what I put in it?”

“Up until a few weeks ago, I might’ve agreed with you, Sam. But you revoked the right to that decision the second I found out you’d been continuously feeding your body pain pills filled with caffeine and not much else.”

“Oh give me a break! If you wanna walk that road, Dean, then by all rights the same should stand for you! Or is near constant alcohol consumption excusable just because it’s _you_?”

“Yeah, I admit it, Sam. I was drinking. Excessively. But the difference between you and me is I still looked after myself. I still fully functioned without someone pestering me to eat, sleep and bathe myself.”

The wind blasts out of Sam’s sails, hating to hear that truth from his brother, and he slumps down. “I’m sorry I had a coffee.”

“Are you sorry for that, Sam?” Dean questions. “Or are you apologising just because you think it will save your hide a few swats? And if you know what’s good for you, little boy, you’ll answer me straight.”

“I _am_ sorry. Wait… you’re gonna spank me for that, too?”

“You went and had a coffee when I told you no caffeine. I told you not to lie to me, then you went and lied to me. So, yes, Sam, I’m gonna spank you for this, too.”

“But I threw it up,” Sam says quickly, “the coffee. I threw it up. That must afford me some leniency.”

Dean’s jaw flexes with the first hint of anger. “You’re expecting leniency for lying to me about having a coffee, not once, but twice? That about right, Samuel?”

“What? I… twice? But… I… _no_ …”

Seeing his kid struggle as to when and how he can be accused of lying to Dean twice, Dean helps clear up the confusion. “Keeping quiet yesterday at the clinic about having a coffee with your cookie was keeping the truth from me. I think that’s called lying by omission. Or do you wanna quibble that, Sam?”

Sam shakes his head. “No sir,” he says not much louder than a whisper, knowing what his brother said is true. “But it’s not fair to spank me for something you and Cas are doing.”

_This again?_ Dean briefly pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sam, I know you have an idea of what happened in Redfern Grove, but do you really want the details?” Dean sees Cas’ body tense out the corner of his eye at the possibility Sam may want to see the entire truth of what the Whites’ did spill across the floor. Neither of them wants that. It won't do Sam any favours. But if the kid can't get past Dean and Cas keeping that truth from him, the easiest (though not the best) option is to tell the kid.

“Can you move past this without knowing everything, Sam?” Cas questions quietly.

Sam sighs, seeing the need in both his brother and Cas’s eyes for Sam not to ask for full details. “I can move past it,” he allows and quickly adds before either man can breathe a sigh of relief, “ _If_ I get both your word, that when it comes to information in the future, you won’t hold back to protect me if it’s something I _should_ know.”

“We can do that,” Dean agrees, maybe a little too quickly for Sam's liking. “But, so we’re clear, Sam. If it’s something Cas and I deem unsuitable for you, I don’t want any arguments from you or sneaking around behind our backs. You have to trust we’re not doing it to hurt you, but to keep you safe. There’s some crap in this world you just don’t need to know. Hell, you’ve already had to experience too much as it is.”

“And what if I don’t agree to that?”

“No one’s asking you to agree, Sam. I said we’d give you the information you should know, just as you asked, not the information you _think_ you need or deserve to know.”

“Fine, then. I change my mind. I need to know everything.”

Dean shakes his head. “Doesn't work that way, Sam. You're not gonna pick and choose.”

“So, you just decide for me like I’m two years old again? What about hunting?”

“Nothing is gonna change with hunts, Sam. We’re a team, like always. And you know the rules of the hunt. You’ve lived them long enough. You mess up, you’re punished accordingly. Same stands for Cas.”

Sam looks to Cas, who nods in the affirmative. He doesn’t need to ask who will punish Dean if he messes up. Because no one has ever punished his big brother more effectively than Dean himself. All Sam and Cas can do is be there and hope Dean accepts their support.

“And you’re in charge,” Sam states, needing to verify that Dean is going to take lead once again in their lives.

For as much as they are a team, that team never works quite as effectively as it does without Dean standing at its head. His brother a born leader, whether Dean sees it or not. And Sam shouldn’t need that boundary reaffirmed. He should be striving to gain some independence and equality, not more control upon him.

“I’m in charge,” Dean confirms. “Both on hunts and at home. At home, you listen to both me and Cas.”

“And if you’re not home?”

“Then Cas is in charge. And I expect you to listen to him as you would me.”

“What am I in charge of?” Sam cannot still the petulance that escapes with his question.

“Being you. Being a kid. Reading, colouring, playing toys, whatever floats your boat.”

Sam stares at his brother incredulously. Because, seriously? How many times today has he mentioned he’s not a kid? Dean may think of him as a kid because Sam will always be his baby brother. Sam gets that. But which part of Dean’s brain did that spell knock around for his brother to think of him as not just a kid, but a _little_ kid? Because, geez. Playing? Colouring? Okay, yeah, the colouring thing is legit. Sam loves to colour. But playing toys? He doesn’t even own any toys. Aside from Littlefoot. But his little dinosaur is completely different.  

And because he’s pissed about the situation, Sam’s mouth runs away from him, even though he had basically asked for Dean to spell out their positions in the hunt and at home. “That’s great. When you’re done being an asshole, Dean, can we get back to the research?”

“Samuel!” Cas scolds.

Sam would shoot him a glare, but he’s a little too busy regretting his choice of words when his brother is in front of him in an instant, grasping hold of Sam’s right arm and pulling him up out of the chair. The man’s hand once again lands smartly against Sam’s bottom and Sam releases a cross between a yelp and a hiss at the sting spreading across his right butt cheek.

“You’re in no position to be giving me attitude, Samuel. And unless you want to meet a bar of soap today, too, I’d quit it with the swearing. As it is, you’ve earned yourself a time-out.”

“No!” Sam squirms against Dean’s hold as the man all too effortlessly picks him up by the waist and hauls him up over his shoulder. “No De-De! No time-out! No!”

Keeping a firm hold of his kicking brother with one arm, Dean grabs up the chair Sam was sitting on with the other and deposits it in a spare corner, facing the wall. He sets Sam down upon it and Sam immediately moves to rise, only to drop back down into the chair at the glare Dean levels at him.

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, or at least as much as he can with the orange cast on his left arm. He glares at his brother before turning away as he sullenly snaps, “I hate you right now.”

Cas looks shocked and opens his mouth, no doubt to scold Sam again, but Dean raises a hand to silence him. Scolding is not the way to go about it. And as painful as they are to hear directed at him, it is not the first time Dean has heard those choice words, or similar, sprout from his kid’s mouth when in these circumstances. He knows there is no truth behind them.

Dean squats down beside his boy, grasping his chin to gently turn Sam’s face towards him, adding a fraction more strength when Sam resists. The boy huffs but meets his gaze.

“If that’s the way you feel, Sam, then so be it,” Dean says calmly once he is looking into hazel eyes. “Just remember your spanking _is_ going to happen. And I can wait this out far longer than you can, kiddo. I want you to remember that, along with what it means to be respectful, while you sit here in time-out for the next ten minutes, calmly and quietly.”

Dean releases Sam’s chin and rises. He has only taken a step when he hears Sam muttering under his breath and kicking at the wall. “Calmly and quietly,” he reminds sternly, without turning around to look at his child, the remembered words of Sammy’s childhood easily coming back to him.

Sam’s movements become minor fidgeting (something Dean has always allowed during time-out as the kid can't keep still at the best of times) and he stops his mutterings. At least for a while.

“Sam, you still have five minutes -”

“Wonder if the inventor of stupid time-out is a ghost in stupid time-out for eternity. Gonna kick their bottom …”

“-Which will increase if you don't stay quiet,” Dean continues once he knows he successfully has control over his amusement at the kid’s mutterings.

Dean has to voice the reminder twice more while he speaks quietly to Cas before Sam settles, the boy’s shoulders slumping as the struggle begins to leave him. And it is eight minutes and twenty-two seconds before the first genuine sniffle makes an appearance.

“De, m’sorry. Didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what, Sam?”

“Didn’t mean to be dis’pectful to you by calling you names and being hurtful.”

“Thank you. And I know you didn’t mean it, buddy.”

“Then I can come out now?”

“Not yet. You still have ninety seconds …”

“Zero seconds has better ring to it.” The kid turns to look over his shoulder at Dean with eyes that are all ‘I'm a pitifully sad puppy who needs lots of cuddles’. “I do that instead?”

“Samuel,” Dean twirls a finger at the boy, taking note of the fact Cas has his head turned away from Sam, the former-angel clearly unable to withstand the puppy-eyes without giving in. Dean will have to have words with him about standing firm under those eyes. Though it is an admittedly difficult feat at the best of times and Dean's had plenty of experience.

Sam huffs but does as asked, turning back to face the corner and stays quiet and calm for the remainder of his time-out.

“All right, Sam, come here,” Dean instructs on the ten-minute mark, and for what he hopes is the final time today.

Sam rises and turns away from the corner, shuffling his way over to his brother, who pulls him down to sit on his right knee. Sam throws a nervous glance towards Cas before looking beseechingly at Dean, hoping his brother will tell the former-angel to leave. They may have grown closer over the past few months, but it doesn’t mean Sam wants Cas witnessing his punishment.

“Cas stays, Sam,” Dean declares firmly with very little sympathy, dashing Sam’s hope. “Because you didn’t just disobey me yesterday, did you?”

Sam bites his bottom lip, thoughts swirling behind his eyes before he shakes his head. “No sir.”

“No. And honestly, kiddo, we’re not asking Cas to leave every time I have to roast your backside for you. Cas is family. And no matter how much none of us wants a repeat performance of this, the both of you need to get used to the fact this is bound to happen again.” Dean shoots a look over his left shoulder at Cas.

Sam hears the former-angel release a sigh and frowns. Cas had plainly told Sam during their conversation in the bunker bathroom that he would spank Sam. The man had threatened Sam with a spanking a week ago back at the bunker and seemed just as set as Dean that Sam’s behaviour yesterday warranted a spanking. So, Sam doesn’t believe the ex-angel is _not_ a believer of this type of punishment.

Even though, right now, Sam would be more than happy for Cas to suddenly realise he _is_ against it and speak up.

“You’re right, little one, I’m not,” Cas speaks quietly, causing Sam’s frown to deepen. He is pretty sure he hadn’t spoken aloud. And seen as he isn’t on the floor unconscious, Cas could not have used any powers, so how …? “Your face is speaking volumes at the moment, Sam. And as you know, I have nothing against this form of discipline when done correctly, as your brother is more than capable of. And while I think this is necessary for your recent behaviour, I simply… I do not like to see you in pain,” Cas quietly admits. “Especially if we are the cause of it.”

Sam swallows, touched by Cas’ concern and honesty. He turns his gaze back to Dean, who offers a minute smile and captures the right side of Sam’s face in his palm, calloused fingers brushing hair behind his ear. Silently telling Sam with just that one gesture what Cas had to say in words: _I love you and I’m sorry to cause you pain, but as your big brother, I’ll do what’s necessary to keep you safe, to keep you whole, and nip any misbehaviour swiftly in the bud._

With another quick half smile, Dean gently pats Sam’s face before the hand is removed.

Sam cannot help minutely tracing the comfort as the green eyes before him take on the familiar sternness once again. He rises when Dean pats his thigh and gestures him up, moving forward when Dean brings him to stand between his legs.

And oh god, that usually only means one thing. He had foolishly been hoping to get away with taking this spanking over his pants, considering Cas’ presence in the room. But like all the times before, Dean doesn’t dish out full spankings over clothing. And Dean is right. Unfortunately. Cas is family. It is inevitable that private body parts are going to be exposed within the close quarters they sometimes live in when on the road. Hell, Cas has already seen more of Sam than Sam likes.

Doesn’t mean he wants to stand before the former-angel half-naked.

Which is why he pulls away from his brother’s reaching fingers. And keeps stepping backwards, gaze jumping between his brother and Cas.

Dean drops his hands to his knees. “Sam, look at me. Just me.” Sam’s eyes flicker away from Cas to his brother and locks onto the green eyes. “Good boy. Now, come here please.”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, “you’re gonna bare me.”

“You’re right, I am," Dean responds bluntly. Because he won’t have Sam getting his hopes up that Dean is suddenly going to change his method for spanking the kid’s rear. And he bares the kid to ensure he is not doing any undue harm. For while his hand, the spoon and brush will redden the kid’s behind and make it sore, Dean won’t tolerate bruising his boy’s skin. “And you being over there isn’t gonna change that outcome, Sam. So, you have a choice. You bring your behind back over here to me before I reach the count of three. _Or_ , I’ll come get you, and we both know what comes next if I have to do that.”  

Sam gulps. Yeah, he knows. And the thought of a pre-spanking before his real spanking starts is never an inviting prospect. But neither is being bared for a spanking in front of an audience.

“One.”

“Stop counting,” Sam twists the hem of his pyjama top in his fingers.

“Two.”

_Please stop counting_ , he silently begs, unsure if he can even move before his brother reaches three. And if Dean comes for him, Sam will more than likely punch him. Or try to. An action that will only result in Sam being put across Dean’s knee with a bare bottom anyway.

“Thr …”

“Okay. Okay.” Sam’s body jolts awake, utilising his long legs to place himself back in front of his brother with two wide strides. “Just get on with it,” he snaps.

Dean shakes his head. Grasping hold of Sam’s right forearm, he turns the kid to the side and lands two sharp smacks to the back of the kid’s covered thighs.

Sam yelps at the immediate sting, heat blossoming over the impacted areas as he's turned back around to face front.

“Tell me what those were for,” Dean instructs firmly.

Sam bottom lip juts out before he sucks it back in to nibble at it. “Giving you attitude.”

“And how many times have I had to warn you about your attitude lately, Sam?”

“Too many.”

“Too many,” Dean agrees. “Don’t make it one more, Samuel, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Reaching forward, Dean pulls the tie open on Sam’s pyjama bottoms to bare him. Neither wanting another smack to his thighs (because those _hurt_ ) or a pre-spanking, Sam can only stand there, heat flooding his face as Dean drags first his pyjama pants and then his briefs down his legs.

“Step out,” Dean instructs, the kid hurriedly covering his privates with one hand, while the hand with the cast goes to his butt, trying to cover the area his pyjama top doesn’t reach to cover. As soon as the kid’s feet are free of his clothing, and hating to do it, but knowing a little humiliation is sometimes a necessary part of punishment for lessons to sink in a little deeper, Dean orders, “hands at your sides, Samuel.”

Sam whimpers, his face flushing a deeper pink as he does as he’s told, moving his hands to his sides, fingers flexing with the need to cover up. He hates this part. Standing here exposed like this in front of his brother. In front of Cas. A little boy awaiting his punishment.

One part of him wants to rise up in defiance of the treatment. The other part, a larger part of him, doesn’t want to cross his brother any further. It is the latter part of him that wins out. Tears already welling in his eyes and spilling over even as he strives to hold them back.  

“Alright,” Dean says, and there is both sadness and disappointment coating his tone. It makes Sam feel two inches tall, several more tears silently trailing down his cheeks. If there is one thing he hates more than anything in this world, it is disappointing his brother; letting the man down. “Let’s get this done,” Dean continues. “Just remember when we’re fully done with your punishment, Sam, you’re forgiven. Slate’s wiped clean. You understand?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now. Tell me why you’re about to be punished, Sam.”

Oh god. Dean is going this route. The one that never fails to make Sam feel even more like a naughty two-year-old. Dean hasn’t asked him to recite his misbehaviour in years. If Dean had had to bust his butt for him over the past decade, Dean always made Sam understand by way of telling him in no uncertain terms what he had done wrong and why Sam was not going to do it again. Sam hates having to do it himself.

He shifts on his feet.

“Stand still. Eyes on me,” Dean commands, voice still calm and level. “Tell me why, Sam.”

Sam stills immediately. He doesn’t want to face more punishment for further disobedience. He swallows against a dry throat, keeping focused on his brother as directed. “Because I-I disobeyed you and Cas."

“That’s right. But how did you disobey us?” Dean questions patiently.

_Oh crap_. Sam frantically wracks his brain for the information that has suddenly escaped him on request of airing it for coming punishment. His fingers unconsciously find the hem of his shirt and twist as he bites on his inner bottom lip.

“Sam, I’m waiting.”

Sam swallows, nods shakily, knowing that even though Dean speaks with his ever-present patience that he holds only for Sam, it doesn’t mean the man won’t start swatting if he’s not answered sometime today.

“I… err… um …” then, thankfully, his misbehaviour that has landed him here on the brink of a spanking comes back to him like a lightning bolt. He refrains from cringing; never did he think he would be thankful to recall his misbehaviour. “Um, I err, I-I walked into town by myself when you, err, when you told me I wasn’t to go anywhere alone.”

“Good boy. But what else?”

“Err, drinking coffee when I’m not allowed caffeine. And for lying to you, twice.”

“That’s right. We’ll combine the two counts of disobedience. What else?” 

“Oh… um, b-being kidnapped …?” 

Dean jerks as if slapped and his voice is firm, though not scolding as he explains. “No, Sammy. No. That wasn't on you. Was going out alone a catalyst, yes. But so was my allowing you to stay at the library alone. You're not going to be punished for being taken out of the library against your will, Sam.”

“No brush?” Sam questions quietly, voicing the concern he's had ever since Crowley landed him on that ledge.

“No, Sam, you’re not getting the brush.”

Sam cannot help breathing a silent sigh of relief, even knowing what he is still facing. Dean’s hand is no picnic and it is going to leave a lasting impression for a while. But it won’t leave him as sore as the brush would.  

“You’re being punished for disobedience, lying, and one other thing,” Dean continues. “Something you forgot in your rush out the door yesterday morning. Something you're meant to always have on you if you're not with me. Can you tell me what that is, Sam?”

Sam feels his skin heat further as he finally comprehends what Dean’s referring to. The item he knew as soon as he realised he had forgotten it would see him receive further punishment. “The demon knife.”

Dean nods, despite his own dislike lately of Sammy handling weapons, his hunter mind still knows the kid has to be armed against the threats they face on a daily basis. “So, tell me what happens when you disobey me, lie to me and forget that knife, Samuel.” 

Sam swallows again, face heating further as he wishes he could drop his eyes down instead of having to meet his brother’s eyes to answer the stupid question.

They all know Sam has his bottom tanned.

But when Dean takes this route to a spanking, the route that has been maintained throughout Sam’s childhood, Dean always makes a point of having Sam tell him the punishment he is to receive. And his brother has always done his best to ensure Sam comprehends exactly why he is being punished, even when Dean’s the one spelling it out for him. Because if Sam cannot understand the reasoning behind a punishment, it loses its future effectiveness in curbing his behaviour.

But this way is also a humbling tactic made to ensure maximum impact.

And it does.

Sam never feeling as little and childish as he does when standing half-naked and having to announce quietly, but clearly, knowing full well he’ll be asked to repeat himself if he mumbles his response, “You give me a spanking.”

Dean nods and holds Sam’s eyes for a long moment. Sam wants to curse his brother and just tell him to get on with it, but that route saw him receive smacks to his thighs earlier. So, instead, he does as Dean wants and opens himself up, feeding all the comprehension of what he has done and why this is happening into his eyes for his brother to read.

There is gratefulness in Dean’s own eyes as the man nods once again after a moment. Then Sam is pulled down over Dean’s left thigh, his brother effortlessly shifting him into position while ensuring his casted arm rests on the waiting pillow. He feels Dean’s right leg enclose his legs to prevent him from kicking, his brother knowing his habits during a spanking too well.

“Comfortable?” Sam snorts derisively, because of course, he’s not fucking comfortable. “Your arm, Sam.”

_Oh. Right._ Sam sighs, coughs to clear his dry throat and says, barely above a whisper, “It’s fine.”

Unlike the rest of him. He’s tense; feels like a coiled spring wanting to burst off Dean’s lap. And he jumps when he feels his brother’s hand rest on his back, just above his bottom.

“Easy,” Dean soothes, rubbing gentle circles over Sam’s back, anchoring him and allowing some of that coil to unwind.

Until Dean moves the hand down to his bottom in preparation of drawing it back and that coil tightens once again. He squeezes his eyes closed when Dean’s hand leaves him and he yelps, his hips pushing forwards from both surprise and the force of which Dean’s strong hand swats down on his bare bottom.

_Oh god_ , Sam thinks, horrified, as the sound of the swat resonates off the guest room’s walls. _I really hope no one outside the room can hear this_. He has given Dean way too much experience and practice over the years in how to deliver an effective spanking. And he isn’t sure he can keep quiet through the entire thing. Actually, he knows he won’t be able to as he grunts and yelps with each swat, the sting and fire building up across his butt.

Dean tempers his strength as he carries out the grim task. He has no intention of damaging his little boy as he heavily drops the flat of his hand down upon Sam’s rear, over and over, spanking his way down one side, before travelling back up the other. The boy squirms, yelps, squeals and pleads his way through it. His legs are trying to kick up against Dean’s, but Dean has a good hold on his boy, preventing feet from kicking up to try and hide the kid’s butt.

A frequent occurrence with Sammy during a spanking. Along with hands flying back. And Dean catches hold of Sam’s right hand before it gets very far, holding it against Sam’s lower back as he continues swatting his hand down.

The tone of Sam’s cries shift as Dean pays attention to the boy’s sit spots. And as much as he wants to pick his kid up into his arms and comfort him, he knows that would offer little benefit to Sam at this point. They all need to see this through. As hard as it is.

“Owww! De, please!” Sam blurts, the burning tears overflowing and leaking down his cheeks, as he tries to wriggle his bottom out of the line of fire. Unfortunately for him, Dean’s hold is steadfast.

God, he should be able to handle this far more stoically without turning into a blubbering mess every time he lands himself over Dean’s knee. Especially when he has experienced far worse pain in his life than a spanking. But it is always the same when in this position; faced with the physical representation of his brother’s disappointment in him. And it is that which breaks him down into a blubbering mess more than anything else.

Several more swats are laid down before it stops. Sam knows it is not the end of his punishment, just a short reprieve. He stops squirming and wriggling around, just allowing himself to cry into the pillow housing his casted arm. He hisses as his brother’s hand rubs gentle circles into his heated skin, relieving some of the sting.

“Alright, Sam, that covers the demon knife.” Dean stops rubbing and starts patting, much lighter swats than previous. A reminder for Sam to pay attention to the words Dean’s speaking. “You’ll have that knife with you whenever Cas and I can’t be with you. We clear on this, Samuel?”

Sam’s breath hitches, trying to bring his tears under control to answer his brother’s question. “Y-yes, sir. ‘M sorry. W-won’t forget ‘gain.”

Dean increases the tempo to the swats. Not enough that Sam will get lost in them yet, but enough to keep him at attention. “What’s next, Sam?”

“L-lying.”

“I don’t ever want to have to return to this subject, Samuel,” Dean lays down a heavy swat and Sam’s cries intensify along with it as Dean continues to light up his baby brother’s behind into a glowing pink.

“Please, De-De! I be good… no lies… be good…”

Feeling the message is sinking in, Dean once again slows his hand, but doesn’t draw it to a complete stop this time. “Next one’s the biggest one, Sam. Not only did you disobey me on the no coffee rule, you disobeyed both me and Cas by venturing outside by yourself when told you’re not to go _anywhere_ alone.”

Dean doesn’t wait for promises to be good or apologises, but lays down a barrage of blistering swats, up and down Sam’s butt, before turning to the sit spots and back again. The punishment turning Sam’s rear a glossy pink.

Sam sobs and pleads his way through it, sending out silent promises to whoever is listening that he’ll be a really good boy for as long as he can if his big brother just stops. He’s sorry. So sorry. “‘M sorry. S-sorry, De …”

Finally hearing the pitch and tempo of Sam’s cries change to truly match his remorse, Dean hardens his heart for a moment longer as he lays down the last two hardest swats on the meatiest part of Sammy’s butt; closing his eyes to the deep sobs that they draw out from his little boy at each one, as if a gale is just waiting to explode outwards from the boy.

Then it is mercifully over. Dean gives his hand a shake. It stings. But from his own experiences over someone’s lap, his hand stings far less then Sam’s reddened behind does right now.

Dean lifts his right leg off the back of Sam’s. The hand he has kept Sam’s own hand trapped against the kid’s back throughout the spanking, Dean now releases and shifts it to the back of Sammy’s neck. He gives brief and gentle squeezes in comfort, while he rubs gentle circles over Sam’s back with the hand he just used to punish his little boy.

“‘M’sorry …” Sammy continues to sob messily, “biggest sorry …”

“I know, buddy,” Dean hums soothingly. “We’re all done. It’s over. You’re okay, baby boy. All forgiven.”

Dean closes his eyes as Sam’s sobs increase slightly, releasing the last dredges of tension now that the kid knows he’s been punished and the slate wiped clean. He glances up as he feels a supportive hand squeeze his shoulder, surprised to witness a stray tear weave its way down Cas’ left cheek.

And from the streaks, it is obvious the other man had been silently crying throughout Sam’s punishment. Dean offers a small comforting smile as he continues to rub his baby boy’s back, and gestures with his head towards the bathroom.

Cas frowns and Dean arcs an eyebrow, taking his hand from Sammy's back for just a second to gesture at his face in a line down his own cheek. He returns his hand to Sammy's back as Cas feels his face, bringing fingers away wet and abruptly turns towards the bathroom.

Dean will explain later that getting upset witnessing someone else's punishment, especially when that someone else is Sammy, just means you have a damn heart.

Sammy's sobs taper off within a few minutes, and Dean just lets the kid breathe for a moment longer.

“All forgiven, Sammy,” he quietly reiterates now that Sam is a little more coherent.

“D’n,” Sammy sniffles, shifting his head so he can look at Dean.

“Right here, baby,” Dean responds unnecessarily, for Sammy isn’t questioning that Dean’s presence is still there with him (the kid is still over Dean’s lap after all), just affirming to himself that he isn’t about to be dumped on his sore ass without any aftercare.

A need that creeps out in Sammy’s most vulnerable moments. Due to being thrown aside after being beaten by a man Sam should have been able to have full trust and faith in not to hurt him.

Dean closes his eyes, reeling in the memories before they bring forth his anger. He never wants Sam to feel that anger or think it directed at him. The kid is too sensitive to Dean’s emotions as it is.  

He gives Sammy a small smile, another gentle squeeze to the back of his kid’s neck. The side of Sammy's face visible to him is streaked with tears and snot, but Dean refuses to feel guilty for being the cause of it.

This was a lesson Sam sorely needed. Dean needs to be able to trust that Sam will listen to him, and to Cas. Trust that they won’t be lied to. This isn't some game they're playing, their lives are dangerous, and Sammy is more than aware of those dangers.

Sam reaches up to rub knuckles against a wet eye, then reaches back to rub at his sore behind, but Dean gently grasps the hand to stop him.

“No rubbing, kiddo,” Dean reminds.

Sam sighs, but does as told, drawing his hand back to his face so he can put his thumb in his mouth, but not before saying, “Time for cuddle?”

“You ready to get up?”

Dean watches his kid’s facial expression. Sammy has only ever had two reactions to a full spanking; scrambling up to get into Dean's arms as quickly as possible, or this one where the kid is too drained from his spanking to do much more than just lie there until he has inwardly assessed that he is ready to move.

Thirty seconds pass before Sam nods in the affirmative that he is ready. Dean feeds the pyjama pants over Sam's feet and pulls them back up the kid’s legs, leaving the briefs off for now. He eases Sammy up to standing and rises with his boy, keeping hold of him in case his legs waiver.

Sam’s next sniffle echoes through the room, the kid wiping at his eyes with the back of his good hand.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, taking the offered washcloth from the newly returned and clean faced former-angel.

Sam hears Dean say the words and he lowers his hand, glancing at Cas now standing at the end of the bed and just as quickly looks away. He shifts so he is leaning closer to Dean, face finding the hollow of Dean’s neck and gripping hold of the front of his big brother’s shirt as a sudden and inexplicable shyness sweeps through him.

He can feel Dean’s hand running through his hair, breath tickling his ear as Dean whispers, “It’s just Cas, Monkey. You don’t need to be shy around him.”

Sam shakes his head, shifting further forward against Dean. He is tugged forwards a moment later, his grip on his brother’s shirt dipping downwards as Dean sits back on the bed. Sam is pulled down to sit on Dean’s right knee, his legs in the open space between Dean’s and his sore bottom thankfully hovering over the free air the right of Dean’s thigh.

A warm washcloth (the thing Cas had obviously handed to Dean) is gently wiped over his face, cleaning away the snot and tears. Arms wrap around him and he’s pulled in closer to Dean’s chest for a proper cuddle. He is still unsure how he still fits so well in his big brother’s arms when he has several inches on the man, but a contented sigh leaves his mouth as he snuggles in.

“Why you gone all shy, Monkey?” Dean murmurs against his hair, rocking them slightly back and forth. “It’s just Cas,” he reminds again.  

Sam shrugs. He really has no idea why. He had figured he would feel defensive facing Cas after his spanking and certainly hadn’t thought to bring shyness into account. He thought he’d outgrown the majority of his shyness a long time ago when his social interaction with people had increased beyond Dean and John, and a few other select hunters like Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim. At least, more so when interviewing witnesses and family members for hunts than he had at Stanford.

Then again, he also thought he’d outgrown wanting a pacifier, and a soft toy, and throwing tantrums.

He shrugs one shoulder again as he pulls his thumb from his mouth to respond to Dean. “Dunno.”

“Well, that’s okay. We’ll work on that later.”

Sam nods against Dean’s shoulder, lowering his arm so he can wrap both around Dean. The person the rest of the world knows Dean to be could easily turn around and tease the hell out of him, but he’s happy to have his caring and supportive big brother holding him right now.

Even though a part of Sam’s brain is loudly telling him he shouldn’t be needing this comfort. He shouldn’t have needed it at the clinic or earlier. And he shouldn’t be needing his big brother to take care of him still. But for this small window of opportunity, Sam politely tells that portion of his brain to shut the hell up.

Ten minutes later, Dean’s amused voice invades his mind just as he’s about ready to drop off to sleep. “Hey, cuddle-bug. I really gotta take a leak, dude.”

Sam giggles and tightens his hold around his brother (as much as his broken arm allows). Dean groans and pokes him in the tummy with a finger. Sam covers his mouth after a squeal leaves his lips.

Dean stares at him with a raised eyebrow before he snorts in laughter.

Sam can feel the heat of embarrassment flare across his cheeks and retaliates by squeezing his arms around his brother’s abdomen just that little bit tighter.

“ _Sammy_!” It’s a strangled sound and Sam finds himself unceremoniously dumped on the bed before Dean is up and racing towards the bathroom.

Sam giggles again, shifting so his back lies comfortably on the bed with his legs to the side so his sore bottom twists away from the mattress. _Guess Dean wasn’t lying_ , he thinks, snickering. The bed dips to the right of him and Sam’s laughter tapers off as he shyly raises his eyes to Cas.

Cas smiles down at him, hand reaching out and brushing over Sam’s hair. “I imagine that wasn’t pleasant,” Cas states gently, making no mention of the tears he himself had shed listening to and watching Sam's punishment.

_No shit, Sherlock,_ Sam thinks snarkily with a shake of his head, his hand rubbing his sore bottom. He takes a deep breath, feeling guilty for his own thoughts when it isn’t Cas’ fault Sam’s now feeling defensive more than he is shy. He looks back up at Cas and offers a small smile.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he says softly.

“For what, Sam?” Cas questions, brow furrowed.

_For being snarky._ “For disobeying you, too,” Sam says out loud. “And well… for acting like an idiot when I saw you just now after… well, you know.”

“I would not expect anyone to feel comfortable having a witness to their punishment, Sam,” Cas responds evenly, hand still brushing over Sam’s hair in gentle movements. “As for you disobeying me, your brother has chastised you for the both of us. It is done and over with, and I forgive you, little one.”

Sam nods gratefully, fingers picking at a loose thread on his cast before he unexpectedly holds out his arms to Cas. He feels his face flush, and he wants to drop his arms and curse himself for being an idiot, _again_ , but his arms refuse to answer his commands.

Cas smiles, pleased Sam is seeking comfort from him too. He happily reaches down and hooks his hands under Sam’s armpits to draw his little one up and onto his lap, mindful of the boy’s sore bottom. He is aware it should feel strange, having a six-foot-four body resting against his smaller five-eleven frame, but it does not. The weight of Sam on his lap feels right and comfortable. And as he wraps his arms around his child he has some sense he has done this before, some foreign and fleeting glimpse into a past he never had.

“Cas?” A small voice calls.

Cas blinks and offers a smile to the inquiring face in front of him, loosening the hold he can sense is too tight around Sam’s waist. “I am fine, little one.”

“You sure? You kinda looked like you were in pain.”

Cas allows a wider smile, neither forced nor open, and nods. “I am sure.”

Sam appraises him for a moment longer and then nods. “Okay,” he murmurs as he rests his head back on Cas’ shoulder.

Cas brushes the hair back from Sam’s forehead, placing a kiss there. “I have to apologise to you, too, Sam. For scaring you earlier this morning.”

Sam pushes himself upright again to look at Cas. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Yes, you were,” Cas responds in his usual blunt manner, rather than allowing Sam the luxury of denying it.

Sam’s fingers find the button on Cas’ shirt. “Does it make me bad if I was more scared of you or Dean being taken away from me than I was for the guy’s life?”

“No, little one. That doesn’t make you bad at all,” Cas assures. “Just very human. But your brother and I… we have no intention of leaving you anytime soon. Not of our own volition.”

“That last part scares me the most,” Sam quietly admits.

“It scares us all, sweet one.” Cas’ eyes meet Dean’s, the haunted look in the green eyes blinked away as the other man approaches them, a pacifier and the small soft dinosaur Cas had bought for their boy within his hands.

Sam’s sleepy eyes light up at the sight of it, taking the offered toy into his hand. “Littlefoot,” the boy murmurs, brushing the toy against his cheek. He then holds his free arm up to Dean. “Up, please.”

Dean picks him up and settles him on his hip, Sam immediately curling around him and resting his head down on Dean’s shoulder. Dean holds up the pacifier to his kid, who opens his mouth for Dean to pop the nipple in.

“How’s a little more sleep sound, Sammy? That sound good?” Dean’s expecting an argument, despite the kid definitely needing a nap, but Sammy must be more tired than Dean thinks because the kid just sleepily nods his acquiescence, sucking on his pacifier.

“When do you want to go to the library?” Cas questions quietly, though not quietly enough as the words reach a sleepy little boy’s ears.

Said little boy jumping fully awake as everything they still need to research in the few hours they have remaining at the Jeffries’ floods his mind. His movement startles Dean, who nearly drops him.

“Whoa, Sammy. It’s okay,” Dean soothes, trying to ease him back against his shoulder.

Sam shakes his head, pushing against Dean’s chest and spitting out his pacifier. “No, Dean. No time for sleeping. Gotta go to the library,” Sam says as his feet find ground again when his brother releases him. He grabs up his clean clothes Dean laid out for him.

“Little one, you need to sleep more than you need to research. Your brother and I will handle that side of things for now.”

Sam shakes his head, fighting with his stupid tee that doesn’t want to go over his arms. “No. There’s too much to look at. It’ll go quicker with the three of us.”

“The library’s not going anywhere, Sammy,” Dean says, finally stepping forward and snatching the tee back over Sam’s head, the kid getting in a tangle with it, considering he had put his head in a sleeve. He gets it on the kid the correct way, tugging it down Sammy’s body. “And neither are we until Tom’s done what he needs to do …”

“A few hours we have free for research then. Look,” Sam looks back and forth between his brother and Cas, flushing only slightly when his bottom half is bared again, this time for Dean to put his briefs back on him. He winces only a little at the feel of the fabric brushing over his sore skin. “This might be our only chance to see if the Jeffries’ library holds anything we haven’t already read. We at least have to try. Please?”

Dean sighs, but nods, getting the kid into his jeans. He cannot deny Sammy makes a good point. “Alright. We go. But you even look like your falling asleep, Sammy, then you’re going down for a nap.”

Sam debates arguing as he slips his arms into his jacket but settles on agreement. It will at least get him to the library. He just needs to keep his eyes open so Dean has no reason to make him nap. He moves to grab his messenger bag but hits a snag in the form of Cas, who is holding up Sam's new scarf and hat.

“You are not going anywhere until you are properly attired for the cold weather, little one.”

“Aww, man. De-De, do I gotta?”

“You heard, Cas, little man. Get to it.”

Sam trudges his way over to Cas, standing there impatiently while Cas sets the scarf, hat and gloves onto him. “All done!” He proclaims the second the hat is pulled down over his ears, moving to pull away from Cas.

“Not so fast, little one,” Cas levels a look at him, and Sam can only pout as the tassels on the hat are tied together under his chin. He turns his pout to his hatless, scarf-less, gloveless brother, hoping for a little help, but his brother only nods approvingly.

“Now we can go.”

Refraining from rolling his eyes at the pair (because his bottom is sore enough thank you very much) Sam grabs his messenger bag, shoving his laptop and tablet within before slinging it over his shoulder. He heads out the door, before spinning back around, bumping into Dean. “Oh, um,” Sam stares down into his brother’s semi-annoyed eyes. “You know where the library is, right?”

“If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, Sammy,” Dean starts teasingly. “It’s always a good idea to know where you’re going when you lead a mission out the door.”

“Hahaha, funny, Dean.”

Dean smirks, shifting Sam to the side so he can pass around him to lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I told myself the boys were going to be back on the road by the end of this chapter without fail. Did that happen? Nope! Aargh! You guys know this is a slow-build work-in-progress, right? No? Well, now you do ;)


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